


Crash

by rufeepeach



Category: Castle
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Eighteen-year-old Kate Beckett bumps into her favourite author on the street. A year later, reeling from the murder of her mother, she meets him again, under very different circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One more walk around the block, and Kate would call it a night. Just one more hour on the streets, breathing in the smoke and danger, the people and the lights. Before she was sent upstate to college, and forced away from New York City.

Her mom and dad were so happy she was staying instate. Mainly because they shuddered to think what kind of trouble Kate could get into if she went further afield. Once again, she felt that little twist of resentment in her stomach: Jim Beckett had put his foot down, and Johanna hadn't intervened. Stanford was a dream Kate would never reach, and her parents had done all she could to keep it that way.

One day, she was going to leave New York. She'd be a singer in Chicago, Paris, maybe London. She'd travel and not give a rat's ass about her mother's cases, or her dad's opinion on her hair, make-up and boyfriends.

She was walking along in a kind of daze, watching the moon appear and then disappear again behind the buildings. She didn't notice the man walking right toward her, eyes firmly planted on the ground.

"Ow!" she cried, as she crashed headlong into him, "Watch it!"

"Me?" he stared at her, "You were the one off in your own little world!"

Ah, now this was what she needed. A good fight to get her blood flowing, chase away that stupid melancholy she'd been indulging in. "If you hadn't been obsessed with your shoes-"

"Oh, like you've never seen the moon before!" he retorted, then paused, the annoyance draining from his face.

"What?" Oh, don't wuss out on me now. Call yourself a New Yorker? "Did I hurt your feelings, pretty boy?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not going to take my angst out on random women. I should've looked where I was going."

The sudden change in demeanor took Kate by surprise and knocked the fight out of her, "Well, then. Okay." she leaned back, out of his face, and took a good look at him. Floppy hair; wide, open face; expensive but not flashy clothing. He was young, no more than six or seven years older than she was. She recognised him, and wondered for a moment if he was maybe one of those Wall Street whiz kids, who made their money on the stock market and were millionaires at twenty-five.

Then it hit her, and she grinned, "I know who you are."

His face broke into a huge, cocky smile, "Really? Who am I?"

"You're Richard Castle: your face is plastered all over the back of the book my mom never shuts up about."

"Clearly a woman of great taste." That smile never wavered, and it was pissing Kate off, "What was your favorite scene?"

"I haven't read it."

"And then you decide to walk headlong into me. Tell me, are you looking to ruin my night even further than it already was, or are you just exceptionally talented?"

"Listen to you! What happened, middling review in the New York Times? Wrong champaign at your book launch?"

"How about you? Do you always pick fights with strangers in the street or am I special?" Their voices were rising, but the street was dark and empty, their words bouncing off the buildings on either side.

"You know nothing about me!" She yelled, right back up in his face, "You know what? I'm stuck in this state, in this country because my parents don't trust me. I screw up a little bit in high school and suddenly I'm trapped forever! So excuse me if I'm not fawning at the feet of someone who can leave any time he damn well wants to."

"You're stuck in the city? At least it's New York, not some nowhere town in Wyoming."

"Worse: I got into Vassar, which is awesome and everything, but it's two hours away."

"Far enough to not be home, close enough to be nowhere new." he nodded, understanding, and Kate felt weirdly comforted.

"Yeah, exactly." She breathed in, suddenly uneasy with the weird little intimacy that had formed, "So what're you doing out picking fights?"

"I didn't pick a fight."

She rolled her eyes, "Fine, let me rephrase: what's a bestselling author like you doing alone, walking around not looking where he's going and, and I quote, 'angsting'?"

"You haven't read A Rose For Everafter?"

"Only the first chapter."

He nodded, "Did you read the dedication?"

The pieces clicked in Kate's head, and suddenly everything else became clear. The bags under his eyes, a little red-rimmed, his easy irritation and the downward slant to his lips. "She broke up with you."

"Cigar for the lady. She jetted off to God-knows-where, said she needed space."

"Kyra Blaine, right? Wow, that sucks. Did it happen tonight?"

"About a week ago. This walk is almost routine now. Well, it was until I was accosted." he gave her a cheeky little smile, and she had to smirk. He really was ruggedly handsome, and obviously knew it.

Their moment - which included them staring at each other and smiling for a little longer than was entirely usual - was interrupted by her pager. She glanced down at it, beeping away, and realised she hadn't told her mom she was going out. Then she looked at her watch. Ten-thirty pm, and she had an early morning the next day.

"I really have to go."

"Yeah, I should get on with my moping. I think the 'anger' stage is supposed to come next."

"Right there with you, Rick." she grinned, widely, and he joined in.

Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

She made it about ten paces before she heard his voice, "Wait!"

She didn't even turn. "What?"

"You know my name: what's yours?"

She turned to look at him, grinning still, "Kate Beckett!"

Two years, three months later:

After the funeral, Kate didn't go home. She didn't go back to college, because she was on official bereavement leave and it was too far away anyhow. She just got her bike from the storage space under the apartment building and started riding.

She did two laps of Manhattan before she realised she needed something faster. An hour later and she was on the highway, breaking every speed limit possible, deaf to all but the roar of the tires on the tarmac, blind except for the curves of the road. Sensible enough to not kill herself, to keep her heart beating in some semblance of life.

She was lucky, really, that the road narrowed and she had to slow down. Only from 70 to 50 mph, but it was enough. So that when the car in front braked suddenly, she didn't hit it with deadly force.

She was thrown from her bike and into a ditch on the side of the road. She was almost obscenely lucky: there were bushes at the bottom which broke her fall. Her bike was sent skittering off across the other side of the road, out of sight.

Kate's head reeled as she lay there, stunned, unable to think or move from shock.

"Miss? Can you hear me? Miss?" a voice drifted from above her, a concerned face in the dark, hovering above her like some bruised angel.

"Huh?" she shook her head, but that just hurt even more so she stayed still as the man pulled off her helmet, and the cold air hit her face in a rush.

"Kate?" she was starting to come to, a little bit, enough to wonder how long she'd been lying there, wherever she was. The voice was startled now, and familiar.

"What happened?"

"You hit me. You rammed into my car with your bike."

"Yeah…" she couldn't quite remember: all she had were flashes of speed and lights rushing past. Then pain, an awful lot of pain.

"Can you hear me, Kate?"

"Who…" she coughed, and it hurt like hell, "who's there?"

"It's Richard Castle. Come on, Kate, you know me. Remember? That night years ago? We had a screaming match in the street."

"Yeah… hi."

Then she passed out.

Rick watched over the girl in the ditch, unconscious and barely breathing, and a rush of relief ran through him when he finally heard the sirens as the ambulance arrived. Alexis, only a year old and crying in the front of his car, enjoyed the attention she got from the paramedics, who made a fuss of her and let her ride in the ambulance, so long as Rick was within her eyesight.

They stuck with Kate on the way to the hospital, and Rick held her hand the whole way. It was absurd, really, how much he cared what happened to her. He just knew that something about her had changed from the girl he'd met years ago.

Two years of book signings, marriage, parenthood and divorce later and he still remembered her. There had been something so… alive about her, like a force of nature, like a fire that couldn't be controlled, even by parents keeping her instate.

Now she was broken, lying on a gurney with an oxygen mask on her face, lucky to be alive at all.

One day, they would see each other painlessly.

When she finally came to, hours later, he was who she saw. "What're you doing here?"

"You decided your bike wanted to be friends with my car."

"I crashed?"

"And landed in a ditch."

"Oh."

"Your dad's on his way."

"Oh, God." she started to cry, small tears turning into huge wracking sobs as the moments passed.

"Hey, hey," he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her fragile body so he could hold her properly. She clung to him, as if they'd been friends for years rather than a few moments here and there, "the doctors say you're going to be fine. A concussion and a broken arm, that's all. You're fine."

"How could I do this?"

He was about to say something funny about motorbikes being deathtraps until he saw her face. She was despairing, guilty, horrified and ashamed all at once. "What's wrong?" she didn't reply, just kept sobbing into his shoulder, "Kate, what did you do?"

"It was my mom's funeral. This afternoon. And now he has to see his daughter in a hospital bed and it's my own fault."

"Oh. God, I'm so sorry." she was calming down a little, but he didn't think it was a release from pain. It looked like she was still sobbing wildly inside, and the calm was all pretense. "What happened?"

"She was stabbed. A random mugging gone wrong."

A haggard man, unshaven and a little drunk, appeared in the doorway. "Katie?"

She sniffed, and Rick watched as a wall came up in her eyes, masking the hurt he'd just seen. "Hi, dad."

He was holding her within moments, and Rick moved out of the way. He heard Alexis, bored of the nurse who'd been entertaining her, crying for him and started to move to the door. He was in the doorway when he heard Kate's father behind him.

"You found her?"

"She hit my car." he explained, "frightened my daughter in the process. I called the ambulance."

"And you waited?"

"Of course. I'm a father too, you know. If anyone left my girl in that state…" he broke up, suddenly feeling an echo of what the man must have felt. Wife dead, daughter in the hospital. That he was still breathing and capable of conversation was amazing. "She's going to be fine…"

"Jim." he supplied, "Jim Beckett. I know you, you're Richard Castle, Katie's favourite."

Kate actually looked embarrassed for a moment, before curling back into her father's embrace. Jim's attention turned back to her entirely, and he only looked up once more to Rick, "Thank you."

Rick nodded, and headed out to attend to Alexis.


	2. Chapter 2

Insurance details.

That was the excuse Rick came up with to see Kate again: insurance details. On his car and her bike, which they hadn't even mentioned in the hospital. Really, he could afford ten new cars if he wanted to, and he doubted she would touch another motorbike again, but he had to see her.

He had to know she was okay. Not just healing fine, but not going nearly-suicidal on highways anymore.

He knocked on the door, and she answered. "Rick?" her arm was in a cast, she had bruises all over her face now purple with age.

"Hi." he suddenly felt incredibly nervous, "Um, I needed the insurance stuff. You know, for my car and your bike?"

Her face cleared, "Ah, yeah, sorry. Come in." she stood aside and let him past. "How did you know where I live?"

"I um… I kinda asked around." the nerves were increasing, as he realised just how hard he'd actually worked to find her, "I knew you lived around here, so I started asking doormen and little old ladies."

"How did you -" then she smiled, remembering, "That night. You still remember?" she started rummaging in a chest of draws on the far side of the room, through hundreds of scraps and sheets of paper.

"Of course. You were the first person I told about Kyra leaving. Kind of thing you remember, you know?"

"Yeah." she turned, a tired smile on her face, "Congratulations, by the way."

"For what?"

"You and Meredith whats-her-name? And dad said you had a kid with you at the hospital. You've been busy."

"Don't I know it."

"A girl, right?"

"Alexis. She's about a year and a half, now."

"Wow."

Her voice was bland, pleasant but kind of… well, dead. "Are you alright?"

"What, broken arm notwithstanding?"

"Yeah."

"I'm… alive. Breathing. Heartbeat and everything."

"That's a good start." he shuffled his feet, knowing he had to ask, "And your father?"

"In bed, hungover." she shoved some papers at him, "Found them." he took the papers, and nodded. Then he looked back at her.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Cause if you need anything, and I mean _anything_ , any time at all I'm right here."

"Thanks, but I'm okay."

"I mean, you need Ben and Jerry's at two AM, I'll be there. Even if it's snowing. Or icy, or hurricane-ing, or whatever."

That drew a little giggle from her, "Well… thanks. That's really great of you."

"Yes, it is. So now stop lying to me and tell the truth: are you coping?"

She flopped back into a soft armchair, and he perched on the end of the sofa next to it. "Rick, they killed my mom. She was alive, and then some fucking bastard with a knife got stupid and decided that she shouldn't be. She's _gone_. How can I be okay?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you know what, that's what I need. I just need to be alright again." They were silent for a while, before Kate spoke again, "Or, failing that, I need the man who killed her to suffer."

"Have they caught him."

She let out a bitter little laugh, staring into space "Have they hell. They wrote it off as an anonymous crime, unsolvable, and left it at that." she paused, then looked at him, "How to I carry on knowing that? Knowing that the man who killed her got off scott free?"

"By letting it go."

"That's what the counsellors say. My aunt got me a therapist, and she says I have to let go. But what if I can't?"

"Then," Rick breathed in deeply, and let it out slowly, choosing his words, "then you just keep breathing. And every breath'll be a bit easier, until it's just another part of you. Until you can wake up in the morning and forget to think about it. And that takes time. But I'll be here for you, every step of the way."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why're you here for me? We barely know each other."

"Call it quantum entanglement." he smiled, "once two bodies crash into each other, they're joined somehow for life. And we crashed twice, so you're stuck with me forever now."

* * *

_Two months later_

He was sat there, on her sofa, sipping the coffee she'd made to keep herself busy. Jim was dead to the world in the bedroom, sleeping off last night's binge. He'd only ever had one glass of wine a night before Johanna died, now he drank like a fish. Like he'd die without another drink.

She watched Rick carefully as he channel-surfed. They'd agreed months ago, when he'd first decided to be her best friend ever, that he would just hang out whenever she needed it or he felt like it. Something about keeping an eye on her. Secretly, she was overjoyed that he was there, even if he did insist on watching _Firefly_ reruns over and over again.

That was something she'd noticed: even her happiness to have him near her was muted now. Like someone had thrown a heavy blanket over her emotions and muffled them, so they couldn't make the noise they once had. The pain of her mom's murder had grown stale and nagging, always there in the background, ready to come out and devour her whole if she let her guard down for one second.

She was only half-watching the TV as some detective chased down a man with a gun in an alleyway. It was only a trailer, and after it passed she could feel Rick's eyes on her, watching for any signs that her resolve to not cry anymore could crack.

Actually, Kate had experienced what could only be called a moment of clarity. The detectives on TV always caught their man, but those in real life did not. It was time to do something about it herself.

After Rick left that night - after forcing her to promise to call him before she went to sleep - Kate looked long and hard at herself in the mirror. She'd always done lots of physical activity, and had started jiujitsu classes in her Freshman year of high school. She was a purple belt now, and taught classes in college.

She also had a gun, and knew how to use it.

She didn't know what she was doing, as she walked out of the apartment. She wasn't on some weird, Batman-style revenge trip. She wasn't looking for someone to fight. But she also wasn't looking to stay out of trouble, either. Her arm had healed weeks ago, and she'd been back in the gym, training back up ever since.

She was sick of being cosseted in that apartment, where she could smell the drink and despair that radiated from her father every day. Where everything reminded her of her mom, even though she was gone forever.

Kate had resented how protective her mother had been, how no matter how she acted out, Johanna called her 'my baby'. Now all she wanted was her, every part of her mom, even the annoying stuff. Especially the annoying stuff.

But she was gone.

Kate found herself walking streets and alleyways in a daze, searching around corners, each time half-expecting her mom to be there. She was searching the city for a dead woman.

She ended up at the crime scene, a sickeningly short distance from her home, and had to walk the other way, tears rolling hot and fast down her cheeks.

It was at least eleven pm, four hours after she left home, before she thought about going back.

Then she heard a scream. She broke into a run, around corner after corner, until she found the source. A girl, younger than she was, blonde and struggling with a man who looked rough, hard and dangerous.

"Hey!" Kate barely knew herself as she yelled out, grabbing the thug's attention. "Let go of her!"

The man sneered at her, and turned back to the blonde girl. "I said, let go of her!" Kate yelled again, as she grabbed his shoulder and used his own weight to throw him back. She rounded on him, kneeing him hard in the stomach before going for a sucker punch to the face. The girl watched, stunned, as Kate gestured for her to run.

With the victim vanished, the thug turned to Kate. He hit her several times, littering her face with fresh cuts and bruises, but the fight was over once she had him on the ground. She straddled him, and hit him repeatedly all over his upper body, finally grabbing his head and pounding it against the hard floor until he passed out.

She stared down at her unconscious opponent, heart pounding, and felt a tiny knot release somewhere in her chest.

Rick called in the next day, just to see if she was up for a walk. When he saw the state of her face, the fresh excitement back in her eyes, his suspicion grew.

"What happened?"

"Oh, I fell down a small flight of stairs." he could spot her lie a mile off: she sucked at lying. But he let it go, figured maybe she'd got in a rough match at the gym or had an embarrassing fall somewhere she didn't want to relate. So he let it go.

Until it kept happening. She would be out most nights, unreachable. One night he called five times, only for Jim to yell drunken obscenities down the phone at him and hang up. She fed him new stories every time she came back injured. He noticed it was the days she was physically fine that she looked the most down.

So, one night, he followed her. He stayed in the restaurant under her apartment for hours until she finally walked past. Then he settled his tab and tailed her.

That night, all she did was walk. The same the night after, and after that, each time arriving at the same alley before walking away quickly in some other direction. After five nights, he was starting to wonder if he'd just been paranoid, and hoped she hadn't noticed his presence behind her the whole time, if all she'd been doing was walking.

Then he noticed the gun.

She'd worn baggy clothes to conceal it, so well that he didn't even notice until the fifth night, when it was windy and her coat billowed.

But his nightmares were confirmed when he saw her reaction to a man breaking into a parked car on a deserted street. He watched, horrified, as she pulled her gun on him and got into a fistfight, coming out the clear victor with just a split lip and a black eye, her opponent unconscious and bleeding on the floor, before she called the cops.

As she walked away, a new spring in her step, toward her home, Rick shuddered to himself. _Oh, Kate, what're you getting yourself into?_


	3. Chapter 3

He ran to catch up with her, then walked to make it look as if he hadn't known she was there. "Kate?"

She spun, caught off-guard, but relaxed when she recognised him, "Rick. Jesus, you scared the hell out of me."

"What're you doing out here so late?" he asked, wondering what line she was about to feed him.

"Oh, just out for a walk." she answered, absently, fiddling with her hair where it was escaping from her messy ponytail. She looked a little wild, walking beside him in the darkness. She wasn't wearing any make-up, her hair was all over the place and lip had split and was bleeding a little. She had dirt across her face, lying in streaks, and he was reminded of a documentary he'd seen about cave-people, hunter gatherers.

People who hunted, fought and survived.

He'd been ignoring it. Ever since that first night, when she'd made such an effort to be normal and bright after their talk, they hadn't mentioned her mom. He didn't ask how she felt, and she didn't tell him. He'd assumed she needed time to process, work things through on her own: he could deal with physical pain - could hug her when she looked fragile, protect her just by being by her side, but the emotions were all hers.

Now he wondered if that was such a good idea. She looked like a woman on the verge of something dark, deeper and more dangerous than ordinary grief or trauma.

They walked in silence, and her calm was scarier even than the episode in the alleyway.

Kate kept her eyes straight ahead, as she broke their silence, "So, what're you doing out so late?"

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, "Research." his tone was breezy, nonchalant, "Dark alleys in bad parts of town are my bread and butter scene settings."

"I bet." she suddenly didn't want to talk to him, didn't need his presence by her side, walking her home. She was so unbelievably angry at him, all of a sudden, that she knew she would regret her actions if he didn't leave right away. "Look, I can walk myself home. I don't need a bodyguard."

"I know. Just thought you might like the company."

"Well I don't." She couldn't even look at him, afraid she'd let her hatred show and end up saying something she couldn't take back.

"I wasn't asking permission. I'm making sure you're safely tucked up for the night before I leave you alone."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" she couldn't contain it any longer, the anger bursting from her like a river from a broken dam, "Just go home!"

"Why?" there was no responding fire in his tone, just bland curiosity. It made it worse.

"Because I'm not Alexis. I'm not eighteen months and dependent on you for every goddamn thing! I can get home on my own."

"I know you can."

"Then what're you still doing here? Go."

"I know you can get home. I also know I can't watch you suffer alone anymore." They'd stopped dead still now, in the mouth of an alley, and she absently thought that they needed to stop yelling at each other in the street.

"I'm not alone. You refuse to let me be."

"where did your mom die?"

It blindsided her, the sudden change of topic, and she felt a scary kind of rage build inside her, "What?"

"Which alley? Was it around here, or in another neighborhood? Do you even know?"

She closed her eyes, pushing down every emotion until she was capable of speaking without screaming or sobbing, "Go back, take a left, then three rights and walk for ten minutes. On your left there's a dead end. That's where they found the body."

She knew the way by heart: for three weeks she'd been going walking every night and had only avoided it twice. It was like a recurring nightmare: every path lead her back to the fact of the murder.

"I thought so." he nodded, speaking more to himself than to her, and her blood ran cold.

"I never told you that before." her voice was calm, measured and deadly, "How did you 'think so'?"

"Every night, why didn't I see it?" he looked as if he would run his hands through his hair, working through a tricky plot point or piece of evidence.

"Every-" she stopped, the truth coming into full view before her eyes, "you followed me."

His eyes cleared at the look on her face. She refused to push down the cold, hard loathing present now. "Bastard." she reached up and cracked her palm across his face, slapping him hard enough to send him reeling back.

That felt as good as wailing on some lowlife scumbag. Better, because now the fight was real, with stakes and emotion on both sides. If she was going to lose everything, she was going to do it properly.

It was almost perverse: she felt alive now for the first time in weeks. Since the funeral. Before that: since the moment she saw Johanna's broken body in that casket and knew it was true.

"I was trying to help you!"

"Because that's your job now, right? Be my white knight? Fix me? Who asked you?"

"You did. You're hurting, Kate, I get that, but I can't watch you just throw your life away because she died."

"So don't watch!"

"You come home every night bruised and bloody and I'm supposed to just let it pass? Come on, you know me better than that! I mean, I was hoping - you're looking for trouble, aren't you? Every night, you go and look for someone to take down. How is that helping anything?"

"Why do you even care?" she screamed.

"I don't know!" he yelled back, right up in her face. She stared him down, realising how close he was and not caring one bit. Let him back down first. Bastard.

Then the one thing he could have done to surprise her happened: his lips pressed against hers, hard, eliciting a little squeal of surprise. His hands came up to cradle the sides of her head, fingers in her hair, keeping her still as he pushed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her ferociously, not allowing her to respond in kind.

She felt her heart race, and what little brain she could use was weirdly surprised to find it still could. When she imagined her heart these days it was as a little lump of stone, sat uselessly in her chest.

She'd just got up the urge to respond, to cling and never let go, when he broke away. He was breathing hard, as stunned as she was, and stared at her.

"What was that?"

"I don't know - I just had to." He took a deep breath, "You're going to be okay, Kate. This won't last forever."

"You have no right to say things like that. You don't know what you're saying. You have a _life_ , Rick. Your mom is alive and babysitting and your daughter's beautiful and safe. My mom was stabbed, randomly, and left there like she was _nothing_. My dad doesn't even speak anymore: he just sleeps and drinks. And there's someone out there who did all of this."

"You're trying to find him." he muttered it like damning evidence, and it rang through Kate's mind.

_Of course I am, idiot. He's out there and I have a deathblow with his name on it. He can't hide from me._

She didn't say that. She just stared at her feet, waiting for the pain to subside.

"Go home, Rick. I have work to do."

"You have a life to get back to, and it's a million miles from these alleys."

"No, not anymore." she looked up, rallied, "And then there's you. You say you care about me, about my wellbeing, but then you follow me to watch me wail on dirtbags and say _nothing_. I'm just research for you. My mom's another body, another case you're itching to solve or write a cunning twist to. 'Not a random mugging, no, the butler did it!'"

He recoiled, as if she'd slapped him again.

"Go home, Rick. And stay there."

This time, she got her wish.

He didn't even look back.

When the doorbell rang on Rick's new apartment's door, he assumed it must be his agent. In the month since he'd left Kate alone - as per her request, he had to add, to assuage his nagging conscience - he'd pitched a new novel. One with a darker tone, where the main character was lonely and haunted, and death was more than a plot device.

She'd done more than insult him, when she'd accused him of not respecting the dead. She'd made him think, made him incredibly guilty. He cared about her, more than he thought possible, but he had to admit that part of his initial attraction to her had been the mystery of her mother's death, the question of how to put Kate Beckett back together again. It had the feeling of a jigsaw puzzle: he'd seen, almost three years ago, how she should be, and now the pieces were scrambled and he had to find the right order.

They'd become close friends, in the months they'd known each other. He knew how she liked her coffee, what time it was safe to wake her in the morning, how she looked in her fat pants and no make up. He'd watched favorite movies and heard tales of her childhood. He knew her as a person now. Not just a pretty girl he wanted to know more about; not just a puzzle to be solved.

But she didn't know that.

And now she never would.

Rick rose to answer the door, and was stunned to see her stood there, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

"Hi."


	4. Chapter 4

In the week since Rick had walked away, Kate hadn't left the apartment.

Rhonda next door, an old friend of her mom's, had popped in twice with groceries. Kate had barely moved from the couch.

She hadn't done this since she was twelve and caught a chest infection from swim class. That time, her mom had taken time off work to stay with her, and they'd watched Temptation Lane and Judge Judy and eaten their combined weight in ice-cream and chicken soup.

Now Kate sat alone, staring at the TV. She felt her muscles begin to cramp and stiffen with inactivity, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Then, one night, Jim didn't come home.

Kate had gotten used to her dad coming and going - usually coming in drunk and going out hungover. But he'd never stayed out all night before. Even in the depths of what Kate was certain had become alcoholic addiction, Jim always came home to his daughter.

This time, it had been 24 hours, and he hadn't shown his face once. Kate was getting more and more worried, and with the worry came a deep and burning anger.

Because she always came home. _Always_.

No matter how awful things got, how much every single day hurt, she always made sure he knew she was ok. Even if he wasn't conscious enough to process the information. Ever since that damn bike accident, she had been terrified to do otherwise.

She'd called the cops, filed a missing person's report. She dearly hoped she'd never have to do so again.

But after half an hour of pacing around the apartment, she knew she had to go looking herself. So she pulled on her biggest hoodie and tucked her gun into her back pocket - she never felt safe anymore without it - and left the building.

The world seemed bright, harsh and violent after a week inside. The sun was too bright, even with the patchy cloud cover, and the city seemed too loud.

Just as before, everyone she saw seemed like a potential threat.

But now there was a subtle change: now the violent, vengeful anger was gone, replaced by sheer terror. All she wanted was to run back into her safe, warm hiding place and wait for the cops to deal with it.

That thought brought her up short. The _cops_? Those same cops who'd dismissed her mother's case despite every glaring anomaly? Who hadn't caught a single one of the guys she'd met in the alleys until after she'd dealt with them on her own? Since when did she want or need anything from them?

They were just backup. The clean-up crew.

She checked the nearest liquor store, but the cashier and the manager both told her they hadn't seen him in days. The bartender at one of the local bars had, but over twelve hours ago.

Visions of Jim passed out in some gutter, just another anonymous, homeless drunk rushed through her mind. She felt sick to her stomach. The feeling intensified when the visions changed: suddenly she was picturing him bloodied, broken, stabbed to death. Another anonymous body, just like his wife.

She swayed on the spot, suddenly dizzy. She barely made it to the bar's restroom before she was retching violently over the toilet bowl, hands clutching the sides until her knuckles turned white. The retches turned to sobs: she couldn't stop crying. Her whole face was hot and wet, her whole body heaving with the force of it.

She couldn't lose him, too. She couldn't be all alone.

_God, if I find him, I promise to send him to AA. I'll watch him every hour of the day. I'll apologize to Rick, I'll stop almost killing bad guys and leave justice to the professionals. I'll be a good girl from now on. I'll do anything. Just please, please let him be okay._

She sat there, on that dirty bathroom floor, crying and praying to a God she wasn't sure she believed in, for what felt like hours.

Then she pulled herself up, and flushed the toilet, grabbing two handfuls of tissue and wiping her face. It took her nearly five minutes to clean herself up, and no amount of tissue and cold water could hide her bloodshot eyes and flushed skin. When she walked out, she felt the bartender's eyes on her as she walked out.

He probably thought she'd been shooting up in there, a hopeless addict. Like father, like daughter.

She followed the paths through the alleys and streets she knew like the back of her hand, now. There was no sign of her dad.

Finally, she headed back to her apartment. When she saw the police car out front, the uniforms around her door, her stomach dropped a thousand miles. She thought she'd be sick again.

But then she got inside, and saw her father on the couch. A female cop was handing him a cup of coffee. He was dirty, thin and bruised, but alive.

"Miss?" a voice came from her side, as she just stared at her father. She turned abruptly at the noise, and found a young uniformed cop looking at her expectantly.

"Yeah?"

"Are you Katherine Beckett?"

"Yes, yes I am. I have ID…" she rummaged in her pockets, and brought out her driver's license.

"Great." he flashed her a smile, "We found your father a few blocks North. He was conscious, but just barely. He's coming around a bit now, but you might want to get him to a doctor, just to make sure."

"Thank you, so much." she was crying again, but they were happy tears. It felt like a second chance. She impulsively reached out and hugged the policeman, her joy making her bold, and felt him stiffen in surprise. Realising what she'd done was probably entirely inappropriate, she pulled back and smiled, a little ashamed. "Sorry. I'm just… sorry. What was your name?"

"Ah," he was still trying to recover, "Kevin. Ryan!" he shook his head, smiling, "Officer Ryan, m'am."

She had to smile, "Thanks for finding my dad."

She shook his hand, and went to sit next to Jim on the sofa. "Hey, dad, where'd you go?" she couldn't be angry anymore: she'd promised to be good as long as he was safe.

"I don't remember… Katie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I didn't come home." his arm moved from under the blanket on his shoulders to wrap around her waist. She leaned into his shoulder, uncaring of his smell of sweat and stale booze.

"You're back now."

"I'll never do it again."

They sat there, arms around each other, together for the first time really since Johanna's death, and Jim soon fell asleep on Kate's shoulder. Ryan handed her a report on the incident, and with a smile and mock-salute, left with the female officer, leaving them alone.

She thought no more about them for the next two weeks: she was too busy tipping every bottle of booze they had in the house down the sink, and keeping Jim from leaving the apartment and buying more. Rhonda kept an eye on him when Kate had to leave. She felt like it was penance for what she'd done in those alleys, and took every bit of work with gratitude. She'd lost one life: now she would save another.

Two weeks after the night he vanished, he awoke trembling violently. He was sick in the night, sweating, and Kate was afraid he might be ill. Then he started asking for a bottle of beer, and she realised it was just withdrawal. It had been six months almost to the day since Johanna's murder, and she had to wonder how hard Jim had hit the bottle in that time for the reaction to be this fierce.

"Just one can," he was begging, from his bed, pale in the daylight she'd forced into the room for the first time in God-knew how long.

"No."

"Come on, Katie, I'm dying here."

"No, you're healing. No liquor, never again."

"I'll get it myself." he started to sit up, and Kate just as quickly grabbed his wrist.

"No, you won't. If you're well enough to get up we could go watch some TV?"

"I need a drink." he stated, the pleading gone from his voice.

"No you don't." she was just as firm, "you scared me too damn much last time."

"It's not up to you."

"Yes. It is. It's sure as hell not up to you."

He pushed her arm away and staggered out of bed. She stood up with him and grabbed his shoulders, steering him away from the kitchen, toward the living room.

"Get off me!" he pushed her away again, and she let him go. There was no liquor in the whole apartment, anyway: she'd just hoped to avoid the argument when he found out. She followed him into the kitchen warily, watching as he tried and failed to find a drink.

"Where is it?"

"Gone."

"Where?" he sounded almost childlike, but she could feel the anger coming. She really hoped she wouldn't have to use force to stop him from getting more, but she knew for a fact that she would if she had to.

"Away. It can't hurt you anymore."

"You're just a kid, Kate. You don't understand: I need it. Now. It hurts too much without it."

"I had to get rid of my bike after it nearly killed me. Remember?" she stepped forward, took his hands in hers, "I crashed into-" _Rick_. She pushed the name away with a little mental push, as she'd become used to doing, "someone's car, and I woke up in the hospital. You sold it, remember? Said I'd never ride again, 'cause it was too dangerous."

"Yeah." she saw a glimmer of memory in his eyes, and thanked God that she was finally, _finally_ , getting through to him.

It was the six-month anniversary of Johanna's death, and Kate rose early to go to the cemetery alone. She'd bring Jim later, when he was awake and the sun fully risen, but not this time, not the first time. Going again would be hard enough, but she knew she needed to be strong for him, to hold him together.

She knelt by the grave, put her flowers on it, and traced her mom's name on the stonework. Her tears splashed the earth.

She was so, so sick of crying.

She always seemed on the verge of it, these days. The calm, dead numbness that had descended in the first months after the funeral had lifted, and left a raw, jagged hole inside her. She never felt more than a few words, the wrong song on the radio, the wrong set of thoughts, from bursting into huge, gut-wrenching sobs and never being able to stop.

Kate Beckett was strong, but her control was wearing thin.

She got home by eleven am, and hoped that Rhonda had checked in with Jim and that he wouldn't be up yet.

He was passed out on the floor of the kitchen, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, the other bleeding from fingers to elbow.

Her heart in her throat, she called the ambulance.

The final report read that Jim Beckett, exhausted and half-crazed, had broken his own window and climbed down the fire escape, before buying the bottle with money Kate didn't even know he had, and - bizarrely, according to the paramedics - coming back home again.

Kate knew better. He'd promised to always come home to her, and he'd kept his word. Somehow that made the whole thing far worse.

One of the nurses at the hospital, after dressing Jim's wounds and prescribing a night of observation, pulled Kate aside in the corridor.

"How long has this been going on?"

"What?"

"His alcoholism?"

"My…" she swallowed, hard, "My mom died six months ago. Since then."

The nurse nodded sympathetically "I'm so sorry for your loss."

She'd heard the words so often, that Kate barely registered them anymore.

"He needs help," the nurse continued, "It sounds like you've tried your best, but I have to tell you - you can't help him anymore. Not really. An alcoholic has to want to get sober, and he's not there yet."

"I can't leave him alone." Kate's voice was calm, but she was screaming inside, "When I do, this happens."

"There're a few clinics, upstate. It's not a cheap option, but they'd keep an eye on him and help him to come to terms. He has no history of alcoholism, according to his records." she pressed some pamphlets into Kate's hands, with a concerned smile, "It's entirely yours and his decision."

That night, Kate stayed up reading the information. It sounded perfect, but there was just one problem: the money. They had enough put aside for Jim's medical bills, but not for something like this. Not if she wanted to keep eating.

Then she remembered another part of her promise on that bathroom floor. She'd apologize to Rick. She missed him, and her life was even darker without his steadying presence in it. It had been a month since she'd seen him. She felt guilty that she was going to see him now, now that she needed something from him, not before.

But she also knew he could afford it easily. It was pocket change for him, almost, and he'd said he'd give her anything she needed. It wasn't for her, it was for her dad, and she'd repay him every cent.

So the next day, knowing her dad was safe until she came to collect him that evening, she headed out to Rick's.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hi."

"Ah- hey." He stood aside "Come on in."

She paused for a moment, looking exceedingly awkward, before she stepped inside and looked around. Rick realized, all of a sudden, that Kate had never seen his apartment before: ever since they'd become friends, he'd always been the one visiting her.

"Wow… so the starving writer thing's going well?" he'd only moved in six months again, when Meredith left and he finally had a reason to get a bigger place. It was massive, he had to admit, and it felt a little empty still with just him and Alexis.

"Yeah, it's a living." She finally looked at him, accidentally catching his eye. He didn't know what to make of her expression.

"Rick, I…" she looked down again, fidgeting,

"Do you want a drink?" he walked to the kitchen area, leaving her by the couches.

"It's two in the afternoon!"

"Relax, I meant a soda or water or something!" How bad was Jim getting if 'drink' automatically meant alcohol to her?

"I'm sorry!" He wasn't looking at her, staring into the fridge, but the hurt was evident in her voice, "Okay?" She sounded three inches tall and a million miles away.

He grabbed two Cokes and walked back to her. "Of course it's okay." he settled down on the couch, and gestured for her to join him. She sat down gingerly, perched on the edge, as if she was ready to run at any moment.

He handed her one of the sodas and leaned back into the cushions, pretending like he was completely at ease in the hopes she would find it infectious.

"Is that why you came over?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"You came all the way across town to apologize?"

"Yeah. It seemed too… important for a phone call." she seemed to be waiting for something, but Rick had no idea what.

"How're you doing?"

"You mean 'are you still picking fights'?" she gave a wry little smile, but it didn't seem entirely sincere.

"Well, yeah, that's part of it."

"I'm sorry for blowing up at you in the alleyway. It wasn't your fault, and I didn't mean to… I don't think you're only friends with me for research, alright?"

He pulled her into a hug, and she finally relaxed. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just clinging to each other, and as he breathed in the smell of her shampoo - cherries, with a bit of cinnamon - it really hit him how much he'd missed her.

They broke apart, and he was horrified to see that she was crying. It was something he hadn't seen since the hospital - she'd never cried whenever he was around her. If anything got to her, he saw the walls go up behind her eyes and she just went silent. There was something profoundly wrong with Kate, who was always so strong and self-assured, crying her eyes out on his couch.

"Hey, do you want a tissue or something?" he fished around in his jacket pocket and brought out a crumpled packet of tissues. He handed them to her and had to smile at her questioning look.

"Don't look so surprised, I'm the father of a two-year-old." she smiled through her tears, and nodded, taking a tissue gratefully and cleaning herself up. "What's the matter?"

"Why didn't you call me?"

The question took him by surprise, "What?"

"Why didn't you call me? I haven't spoken to you in over a month. I _missed_ you, and you never called or came over."

"You told me not to!"

"I was also stalking scumbags in dark alleys and getting beat up on purpose. You really listened to me?"

"Kate, I told you I'd be there for anything you needed. So if you tell me you need me gone, I'll go."

"I needed you. You weren't there."

"All you had to do was call."

"After what I said to you? Do you know how hard it was for me to even come over here? I was convinced you hated me! I thought-"

"I could never hate you."

"What?" that brought her up short, and she stopped mid-rant, staring at him.

"I could never hate you."

"Don't say that."

"I'm serious. Barring purposely harming Alexis, there is nothing on this Earth that you could do to make me hate you. Drive me crazy? Yes. Make me punch walls and spit fire? Definitely. But hate you? Never."

There was a split-second of silence, as something seemed to click in her mind, and then she launched herself at him. All of a sudden, Rick found himself with Kate Beckett plastered all over him, her lips hard and insistent against his.

He fought the urge to hold on, to kiss her back and never, ever stop, and pushed her away, "Hey, what's that all about?"

She didn't reply, she just reached up and kissed him again, and his resistance crumbled. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against him, taking control of the kiss and slipping his tongue past her lips and exploring her mouth. It was less angry, less fierce than their last kiss, but the urgency was still there. She kissed him back like she was dying and he was the only cure. Like there was nothing else in the world.

He pressed her into the couch cushions, pinning her body with his, and the kiss turned slow and languid. She got impatient fast, and one of her hands slipped under the waist of his jeans as the other slid up under his shirt, feeling the muscles of his back, running little circles over his stomach, making him shiver.

"Hey, what's the rush?" he asked, as he pulled away. To be honest, he was proud of speech at all - it was breathy and strained, but it was words. Impressive considering one of her hands had found its way to the front of his pants, where he was growing rapidly harder with every stroke of her clever little fingers.

"Nothing." she breathed, as she leaned up to kiss him again. He pulled her hands up and pinned them above her head - another act of Herculean self-restraint - and she huffed in annoyance, "I just need you."

"Yeah," he could help it; he ground up into her, pushing his hardness against her center, and they both groaned, "I know the feeling. But what's the rush?"

Her expression turned evasive, and an awful thought struck him. He looked down at her, and saw in her expression that he had the right answer. "You stopped picking fights, right?"

"Yeah. It was stupid and dangerous."

"But you don't feel any better, do you? You haven't let any of it go, so all that tension's still inside you. Jesus, Kate."

"What?" she sounded angry now, and he wasn't proud of how attractive it was. Her eyes were wild and gleaming, her face flushed. She'd never been hotter, and he hated himself for thinking it. " _You_ kissed _me_ , remember? Not the other way around."

"I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be sorry, just kiss me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not being your fight-nicotine patch."

"Huh?"

He sighed, but didn't let go of her hands, "You don't really want this: you're only interested in me so you can release all this pent-up energy."

"How do you know that? Ho do you know I didn't just miss you and _need_ you too damn much to stay away anymore?" she tried to move her hands, but Rick was comfortable holding on, and at least she couldn't slap him this way. "It wasn't fair: you shouldn't kiss me like that then just walk away."

He laughed, and her death-glare turned up a notch, "Kate, if you'd've let me, I would've brought you back here and… continued all night long. But you told me to leave you alone, and I respected that."

"Oh." she grinned, and reached down to try to undo his flies.

He wanted to let her - oh Lord, how he wanted to let her - but he couldn't. Because he understood now: if it happened like this, then this would be all it ever could be. He'd be the guy she banged when she was hurting and messed up and just needed a warm body to fuck.

And he also knew now, after having been apart from her for a month, that he didn't want that. When they got together - and Rick decided the moment she walked in the door that it wasn't an 'if', it was a 'when' - it was going to be perfect and magical and forever. And that meant not right now.

"No." he pulled her hands away and sat up, moving across to sit on the armchair, away from her.

"What? But you just said -"

"We're friends," he improvised, drawing off every TV cliche he could, "I don't want to mess that up."

"Oh. Yeah." she nodded, and he was a little gratified by how disappointed she was. At least he wasn't alone in regretting this decision, however right he knew it really was.

"Hey!" he looked down at his watch, "It's two-thirty! I need to get Alexis from playgroup!" he had an idea - a stroke of brilliance, if he said so himself - "Come with me."

"What?" she had a kind of dear-in-headlights look.

Rick had never introduced Kate to Alexis, a problem he knew he had to correct.

"Rick, no! I'm not good with kids, they can smell fear!"

"Come on, Alexis is great. You'll love her, and she even loves my mother so she's bound to love you! I'm not taking no for an answer."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes." he stood up and grabbed her wrist, and she fought a little halfheartedly to break his hold "We'll take the limo, shock all the parents for the fifth time this year, and whisk her away for ice-cream, it'll be great!"

She let him pull her up, looking at him with this gooey expression that made his heart race just a little. He didn't want to over-analyze that look.

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Because you're my two favorite girls, and you've never met. There's something wrong with that."

At that, she stopped struggling, and moved her hand a little so instead of her wrist, he was holding her hand.

He ignored how right that felt.


	6. Chapter 6

Kate sat in the passenger seat of Rick's chauffeured car, and tried to ignore how weird it felt to be sat on clean, smooth leather seats next to a bestselling author after the few months she'd just had. Quite a leap from the scruffy, stained armchair in her dad's bedroom.

She'd forgotten to ask him. In the joy at seeing him again, with all the feelings she hadn't been able to properly feel before rushing to her head, she'd forgotten to ask him.

She pushed down the guilt she felt at that. The second a cute - alright, completely adorable and wonderful - guy smiled at her, her dad's problems slipped right out of her head. So she had to ask him, before this went any further. Before she was mixed up in meeting his daughter and pretending to be normal around a two-year-old. Before it was too late for him to kick her out of the car for asking so much of him

She knew he wouldn't do that. But it didn't stop the fear gnawing at her stomach.

"Rick?"

"Yeah?" he was messing with the skylight, fiddling with the buttons like a little kid.

"I… I need to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"I -" God, this was awkward, "Well, I didn't just come over today to apologize."

He didn't look particularly shocked, but something in her voice must have caught his attention because he leaned backwards, leaving the buttons alone, and looked her right in the face. "I figured."

"I mean, I did want to apologise. I mean, I really, really missed you…" she was staring, she could feel it. But the feelings she had for him were too new and fresh and _shiny_ to be ignored, so it was a few seconds - a few perilous seconds where she could feel herself leaning toward him - before she could gather her train of thought.

She pulled herself back, and saw him do the same. He tore his eyes from her lips and seemed to be taking stock of his affect on her. At least, if that cocky little smirk was anything to go by.

"But anyway! I need to ask you for something."

"Ask away."

"My dad- he's not doing so well." she suddenly regretted this - she didn't want to ask him for this. He'd been too nice to her already, much nicer than she deserved, and it was her father and her mother's death and her _life_ and he had no responsibility to look after her. He owed her nothing.

"Is he okay?"

"Actually, he's in the hospital right now. After I leave you I have to go collect him and take him home." the weight of the task ahead of her - of keeping Jim Beckett alive and sober - came crushing back down on her. She could feel the exhaustion of the last six months dragging and pulling at her muscles, and saw the concern on Rick's face with no small amount of relief.

He didn't have to help her, but he wanted to. And she needed him, however much she might not have wanted to admit it.

"Oh, Kate," he reached out an arm to wrap around her shoulders, and she wanted to pull away. She wanted to be strong and isolated, and carry the weight of all of this on her own. Like it was her personal burden, and sharing would be cheating. But it felt so good to snuggle down into his embrace that she couldn't help it. "What do you need?"

"I need him to be better, and I can't do it on my own." it was the first time she'd admitted it out loud, and it felt better than she'd expected. Like finally confirming it made it true at last. "I've tried - he disappeared and the cops found him over a day later hungover after spending a night on the streets. I've kept him breathing but I just can't do it anymore." she could feel the inevitable, now tedious, tears coming on, and she breathed deeply.

Her mom used to tell her to cry all she wanted - it was the best way to get rid of whatever was upsetting you, and set it all free. But Kate had found these last months that crying did nothing to heal the huge, jagged wound of grief and loss that her mom's death had left behind - all it did was bring the pain right back to the front of her mind.

So Kate stayed silent for a moment, gulping back tears, until she felt ready to speak again, "So I need your help. And believe me, I don't want to ask for it. I want to be able to do this on my own, but I know that I can't. So I'm not asking for me, I'm asking for him - at this point, I'll do anything to make him better again."

"Kate, just tell me what you need and you can have it."

"I need money." it came out in a rush, and she couldn't look at him, looking down at the floor instead. "He needs help, and there's this clinic upstate that'll give him everything he needs. But I can't afford it, not on my own."

"Okay." his response was immediate and easy, no hint of resentment or even shock in his voice, as if she'd asked if they could stop at McDonalds on the way to the school.

"Really? It's a lot of money, Rick, are you sure about this?" she pulled herself up to look him full in the face - she hadn't expected it to be so… easy.

"Sure." he shrugged, then laughed at her expression, "Kate, I'm twenty-eight and I've published five bestsellers. Not to brag or anything, but money hasn't been a problem for quite some time now. If this'll help you, and your dad, then please show me the downside because I can't see it right now."

"The downside is that I'll owe you." she sighed, "But I'll pay you back, every cent of it, even if it takes until I'm fifty."

"Don't worry about it."

"I can't let you do this without knowing that I'll pay you back. I'm not asking for a gift, Rick, I'm asking for a _loan_."

He looked at her hard for a moment, eyes narrowed, and she knew he was looking for a way to convince her otherwise. There wasn't one: she was resolved.

Then, finally, he nodded, "Okay, then, a loan. To be paid off sometime in the next hundred years."

"Ten," she countered, "I'll pay you back within ten years. Less, hopefully."

"Fine, but I hope you know you'll be the only one who's counting."

She nodded, and couldn't help the smile that broke out over her face. The weight lifted, just a little bit, from her shoulders. She couldn't help it: she threw her arms around him and laughed like she hadn't in months, in pure relief.

"Thank you so much, Rick."

"Anytime."

The car pulled up, and the chauffeur surprised her by stepping out and around to hold her door open. Kate stepped out, and saw a mass of parents - all dressed in clothing probably worth three months' rent on her whole apartment - teeming outside the school. Rick was pulled aside by a group of women who weren't letting go, so Kate leaned against a railing and waited for him to return.

"Just moved into town?" a pleasant female voice came from beside her, and Kate turned to see an immaculately-dressed and groomed woman smiling at her. She knew she looked a little startled, and the woman laughed easily, "I haven't seen you here before, and I know I know all the mothers here. I'm Janet Gordon, head of the PTA."

"Kate Beckett."

"So is your child new to the school?"

"No, no…" Kate's head felt scrambled from too much thinking and worrying and _change_ all in one 24-hour period, "I'm just here with a friend. He'll be back in a second." she could see Rick's head, taller than all the women gathered around, off to the side somewhere. Janet followed her gaze and spotted him too.

"Ah," she nodded, smiling, "You're here with Richard Castle?"

"Yeah." Janet's look was too sly, too conspiratorial for Kate's liking. She would put money on her being a one-woman rumor mill.

"I didn't know he was seeing anyone, but then that divorce of his was such a messy _public_ business that I suppose he's being a bit more sneaky about it now."

"Oh, we're not together," Kate quickly corrected her.

_Yet._ A little voice in her mind added, and Kate quickly stuck duct-tape over its mouth.

"Really? Well, good luck with that, Kate. If you can land him, he's quite a catch."

Kate was saved from any more embarrassing advice when Rick reappeared, a tiny redheaded girl clutching his hand. "Ready?" he asked, throwing a smile to Janet. Kate hadn't realised how well she'd gotten to know him until she caught the wariness in his eyes despite his friendly grin, which she knew Janet wouldn't see.

"Yeah." she smiled, and then looked down to the little girl, "Hello."

"Hi." Alexis' voice was clear and confident.

Rick beamed at her as if she'd just composed an entire symphony right in front of them, and Kate's heart almost burst with the amount of adoration on his face in that moment. Alexis was obviously the centre of his whole universe, and it was the most adorable thing Kate had ever seen.

He head them out to the car, and helped Alexis inside. She ended up sat in between her father and Kate, but didn't seem phased at all by the presence of a stranger. In fact, she seemed remarkably calm and self-possessed for a two-year-old.

"I would have introduced you guys out there, but there were too many people watching," Rick explained, and Kate knew exactly what he meant. There was something a little unnerving about Janet, and she would put money on the other mothers being the same. "Alexis," he looked down at his daughter, "this is my friend, Kate. She's the one I told you about." Kate started a little at that - he mentioned her to his daughter? Then he looked up at Kate, "Kate Beckett, allow me to introduce Alexis Castle, who I was just told is top of her class for the eighth week in a row." he couldn't help a huge, proud smile at Alexis at that point.

Alexis stuck out her hand and, after a moment, Kate took it in hers and shook it. Then the girl giggled, and Kate found herself laughing, too.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to everyone who's read and favourited/story alerted! Special thanks to all of you who are reviewing – it helps to know what elements need addressing or if anything's feeling a little off… or if anything's really working! So keep 'em coming!

As always: read, enjoy, and review!

Two days after Kate drove Jim up to the treatment centre, she decided it was time to visit him.

Of course, she'd wanted to go earlier. The nurses had told her to give him twenty-four hours to acclimatise, even longer to properly sober up and get used to his surroundings.

But every hour something made her think it was the worst decision possible. It made her face burn and the back of her head prickle with a mix of anger, shame, and crippling self-doubt. It made her want to turn back, to jump on the next train, in the next cab, and bust him out of there as fast as she could.

Because who was she to make this decision? A twenty-one year old girl, only just old enough to drink herself, on a break from college; of course she was qualified to decide the treatment for a grown man.

Who was she to approach a friend – a friend who had already gone above and beyond in the name of looking after her, who had asked for literally nothing in return for his kindness – and beg for money to look after him? Jim, the old Jim, would never have allowed it. He would have been horrified to discover how much of a role Rick had played in this whole thing, and ashamed to have allowed it to happen.

Kate knew that, but she did her best not to take it to heart. He wasn't able to look after himself, he'd allowed this to happen, and he had to deal with the desperate measures needed to put it right.

But then the shame would set in, the doubt, the knowledge of her own arrogance that she'd taken this upon herself, as if she were her mother. As if she was Johanna, his wife and confidante, his best friend.

She was just his daughter, and a rebellious, ungrateful one at that.

These thoughts would surround her, rushing through her mind and turning her stomach, until she remembered the sight of him, collapsed and bleeding on the kitchen floor, dead but for her finding him just in time.

That hardened her resolve enough to put away her keys, take of her shoes, and sit back down on the couch.

But it still hurt.

When Kate told him she was going to visit Jim, Rick insisted upon coming with her. He'd seen the resolve on her face, that massive cast-iron wall behind her eyes, but refused to budge: she wasn't doing this alone. He was relieved beyond belief when she agreed to let him come before he had to play his final trump card, and point out that he'd paid for this.

He was disgusted by the idea that he would actually use it. He was trying to be a good person for her and for Alexis, to grow up into the man he'd never know if his own father was. Alexis needed her dad, and Kate needed a friend, and Rick knew that the person he was when they met – the playboy party animal author, smarting from his first serious breakup – wouldn't cut it.

That version of him was a selfish boy.

He was also the version who would have let things go a lot further, that afternoon in his apartment. Who would have let her throw herself at him and slept with her and not cared what it did to their relationship, as long as he was having fun.

But that wasn't him anymore: he knew that if they slept together now then that would be all it could ever be for her. She wasn't even close to out of the darkness yet, no matter how hard he tried to pull and push her toward some kind of light.

Still, it was hard to remember that when she let their hands intertwine between them on the train.

He felt it, her slim, cold fingers weaving between his, squeezing a little before relaxing, just holding on enough not to slip away. She didn't look at him, didn't seem to notice his surprised little glance her way, and seemed to be doing her absolute best to not make any kind of issue out of it at all.

So he just held her hand, and read his book as well as he could with the other, and they were into their station within a couple of hours.

Their hands broke contact when he shifted out into the aisle, and she grabbed her handbag. When they'd managed to hail a cab outside, and were sat in the backseat with the countryside rushing past, He reached out deliberately to take her hand again. Her fingers were even colder, this time, and shaking. He wasn't surprised, despite the look of total calm on her features. He supposed that when you felt the way she did all the time, you had to get pretty damn good at hiding it.

She shot him a grateful smile, and squeezed back. "You okay?" he asked. He already knew the answer, but felt he had to ask at least once.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She lied to his face, but he didn't blame her. She was probably trying to convince herself of the same thing.

"Remember, I'm here the whole time. I'll sit in the waiting room or something, as long as you want."

He was a little taken aback when she started laughing, and ducked her head so that her long hair fell over her face, "Oh, God. Please don't."

"Why not?" He frowned; afraid she was going to push him away again. That selfish side of him rose up again, and he knew he wouldn't do it twice. He needed her as much as she needed him. "You can't want to do this all on your own, Kate, and I'm happy to do it."

"That's why you can't! You've been too good to me, way better than I deserve, but I'm starting to-" she broke off, and ran a hand over her face, "I can do this on my own. I have to be able to do this on my own."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why?" he repeated, "Why do you have to do this alone? I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know that." She murmured, just loud enough for him to catch it.

He sighed. He supposed that he didn't know what it felt like to really rely on someone, the way Kate must have relied on her mom.

So she was scared of doing it again, when she knew just how fast someone could be torn out of her world.

They pulled up outside the centre, and Rick paid the cab driver. They looked at each other in the back of the car, faces equally resolved.

"Kate, I don't want you to be alone in this."

"Well, I do, okay? Thanks for coming this far with me – really, thanks – but I need to see him alone."

"Okay: compromise. I'll go on into town, check out the bookshops or something, and hang around there for a while. Call me when you want to meet up, even if you just want to go home, and I'll come meet you, okay?"

"It's gonna be fine, Rick, just go home. I don't want to ruin your day." He could see her resolve weakening, but only slightly.

"I'll worry about you all day either way: this way I can come back and see you right away."

"Ugh, fine." She rolled her eyes, but her little smile vanished the moment she stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

He saw her brace herself; shoulders straightened, and smooth her coat before heading inside.

Jim was asleep when Kate got there. She knew he probably would be; he'd have to be exhausted after everything over the past few days. She sat by his bedside in what was a nicer room than they'd ever had at home, head against the wall, hand over his on the bed, and watched him sleep.

He was alive. His heart was beating, chest rising and falling rhythmically in sleep. It felt as if he'd come back to her from the dead, like it was a miracle that he was even there, safe and on the mend. She didn't want to think about what would have happened if she'd lost him, too. The thought made her heart twist, and she pushed it away with some considerable force.

After about a quarter hour, he seemed to become aware of her presence, and he blinked his eyes open. His hand stretched under hers, and he looked up at her, smiling.

"Katie." It was a tired smile, but genuine and comprehending.

"Yeah, dad," she beamed back at him, "It's me. How're you doing?"

"I'm... tolerable." He looked down at their hands, and grasped hers so they were connected. He sighed, deeply, as if holding onto her released some kind of internal pain, and looked back at her. "They say I'm here because of you. What would make you do a thing like that?"

"You were unwell, dad. How much do you remember?" _Of the last six months?_ She wanted to add, but she didn't out of tact.

And because she didn't know if she could handle the answer.

"Not much, to be honest. But this is a bit of a mess, isn't it?" he held up his other hand, wrapped in bandages, "Any idea how this happened?"

"You broke a window of a liquor store."

"Shit." He shook his head.

"Do you remember that?"

"A little; didn't hurt then, though."

"You had about a bottle of Jack Daniels in your system at the time." She remarked, gently.

"That's why I'm here, right? Because of the booze?"

She nodded, and hoped he wouldn't be upset.

"Jesus, Kate. You couldn't have just said something?"

"I did. Several times! You pushed me away."

"Then you could've left it alone."

"Dad, look at your hand. You were going to do something life threatening if you were left alone."

"I'm a grown man, Katie."

"That stopped being an excuse when you couldn't get to the bathroom on your own. I know, it's your business if you get sober. But Mom's gone, Dad. She's not coming back, no matter how much either of us might want her to. I'm not losing both of you in one year."

"You're not losing me, Katie."

"This is the first proper conversation we've had in months, Dad, and you're in a treatment centre."

"I am paying for this, right?"

"What?" the new topic threw her for a moment, and she had to pause, "No, I... no. You aren't."

He noticed her pause, and Kate remembered again how smart he was, and how well he knew her, when he was sober. "Katie? This isn't your tuition, is it? Because I'm up and leaving right now if you dropped out of college for me."

"No, it's fine, dad. I'm just on a break from college for the year; I'll go back in the fall."

He narrowed his eyes, and she hoped desperately that that would change the subject. "This place is nice, Katie. I don't mean that I want to be here, but it's not somewhere my insurance would pay for on its own. So where'd you get the money?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. I'm not going to lie here and know I'm mooching off of someone."

"You're going to get better. That's what matters here, I took care of everything else."

"Oh no," he looked at her, eyes wide, "You didn't sell something did you?"

"Like what? It's not like we have anything worth selling. Neither of us had earned any money in months-" she stopped, recognising the anger swelling up inside and squashing it down. It wasn't going to help anyone here. "I made a deal with a friend." She said, finally.

"What friend? Someone from school?"

"Just a friend, dad." She was improvising now, her own disquiet at how easily Rick had given her the money – and at how much he'd done for her in general recently, without any repayment – rising to the surface. "I'm going to get a job and pay him back as soon as I can. But you getting better is more important than either of our pride, dad."

"Who is he?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Katie-"

"No! I've earned the right to one secret, dad."

"I'm lying in a bed he paid for, the least I can do is thank the guy and repay him myself."

"This is complicated, okay? And it's all going to work out, somehow. My only other options were to sell the apartment or to get a loan from a bank – which wouldn't happen anyway, since you know what they're like about credit and collateral and everything."

He looked tired and small, lying there, and he gave in, holding up his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. But thank him for me, okay?"

Something sank in, "Thank? That sounds like… do you actually _want_ to be here?"

"No. I really don't. But you've given up so much just to keep me ticking over… I'm doing this for you. Just like you gave up your bike for me."

"You remember?" _The last time we spoke?_

"The accident?" he shrugged, and Kate felt a stab of emotion she couldn't describe, somewhere between disappointment and relief that he didn't remember much of the last few months. "How could I not? You don't forget the day you almost lost your whole family in a hurry."

She laughed, although she felt those awful tears coming again, "I know the feeling."

She called a few hours into Rick's perusal of the bookshops, and he met her soon after. Her face was carved in stone, and Rick couldn't help but pull her tense, rigid body into a hug. She didn't respond for a moment, before she relaxed into him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders; she clung on so hard he wasn't sure if she meant to ever let go.

When they finally broke apart, she was smiling. "Hey."

"Hey," he replied, "Is he-"

"Conscious and complaining." She was still smiling, "He'll be in there a long time, but he seems okay with that."

"That's good news, right?"

She nodded, "I think so." Then she frowned, looking a little awkward again, "He did bring up a good point, though."

"What?"

"You're paying a lot of money for him to get better – and he sends his gratitude, by the way, he made me promise to tell you – but… you're not getting anything in return."

"You're smiling." He pointed out, "That's enough to make me do a little victory dance."

She smacked his arm, lightly, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"I know, but you're insisting on paying me back every cent, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but it's not enough, is it? You've been by my side for months now, I don't know if either of us would even be alive right now if you hadn't, and that's another debt to repay."

"No, it's not." She had a determined look in her eyes, and he felt like just telling her right then and there that he loved her.

Which was news to him, too, but whatever. It felt right, and completely the wrong thins to say right now. Just like telling her that needed her around forever, that saving her from anything that threatened one hair on her head fell under the 'selfish' column because he couldn't stand the idea of her leaving him.

"It is, Rick. Please?"

He caved. Her eyes were all big and brown and pleading, and he just wanted to grab her and kiss her right there in the street.

But he didn't, because that would make things so much more complicated than they were already.

"Fine. What do you want me to ask you to do?"

"Um…" she looked a little stumped for a moment, before inspiration struck, "How about I clean your apartment once a week? And I could babysit, anytime you wanted?"

"You have an overactive guilt complex, you know that right?"

"I prefer to call it honour, but yes."


	8. Chapter 8

Rick looked in the mirror one more time and straightened his tie. He was glad that no one could see him, in retrospect, as he shot himself a wink in the mirror and couldn't contain the finger guns, shooting what he hoped was a James Bond-style pose.

Then he shook his head - when did he grow up enough to tut at himself? - and headed out into the living room.

"Wow, look who cleans up nice!" Kate wolf-whistled from the couch, where she was cuddled up with Alexis. They paused their Robin Hood video, and Alexis finally looked up. She saw her dad in his Going Out clothes, and jumped up off the sofa, throwing herself around his legs.

"Hey!" he couldn't keep the sappy, doting smile off his face, and he shared a look with Kate. Her smile mirrored his, before she obviously felt it and wiped it off, rolling her eyes and looking away.

"You're going out?" Alexis looked up, eyes wide.

"Yup, sorry kiddo." he leaned down and scooped her up into his arms, unable to stop himself from hugging her close, breathing in the smell strawberry kiddie's shampoo. He could never believe how much he loved this little girl.

The feeling didn't fade when he glanced at Kate again. The tone of it changed, obviously, because there was only one person in the world allowed to see Kate Beckett as a little girl and Rick Castle wasn't him - he wasn't going to let himself notice how beautiful she looked in her comfy clothes, hair tied back, nestled on his couch and looking completely at home there - but the fierce protectiveness, the need to hold on and never let go, stayed the same.

He knew that he found her attractive. He knew that she needed a friend, and that he was it.

But it was the sheer depth of feeling, which only hit him when he wasn't looking, that scared him. He knew the whole fear of commitment thing was a cliché, but he reckoned that after the emotional meat-grinder Kyra put him through, and the wonderful but empty madness of his whole marriage to Meredith, he'd earned the right to use that cliché.

Even if every writerly bone in his body protested against it.

But he didn't let it show, even when their eyes met and he felt like he'd almost burst and wanted to run into the next state. He just smiled, and deposited Alexis back down next Kate. She snuggled back into her and Kate's arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"Where're you going?"

"Just out. Meeting a friend."

"Ooh," Kate grinned, teasing, "What friend?"

"My editor quit on me," he sighed, "I mean, I suppose being sixty-eight with ten grandchildren is an okay reason to retire, but he quit on me!"

"Yes, we know." Kate rolled her eyes again, "And it was a great betrayal."

"It was, wasn't it?" he shook his head, "Anyway, they've finally set me up with a new one; I'm meeting her tonight."

"Her?"

"Yup. A Miss Gina Cowell. Sounded like a bit of a tight-ass on the phone."

"Great." her eyes turned back to the screen, and her smiled tightened a little although Rick might have imagined it, "So will you be late or very late?"

"Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky." he teased. She wasn't impressed, so his stupid mouth decided to keep going, "You've already left enough of your stuff around here, so you don't even need to go home if you don't want to. It shouldn't be past midnight."

"Okay, fine. Have fun!" she waved him off, and he left smiling.

The restaurant Gina'd chosen was upscale and a little pretentious, all soft white lighting and quiet ambiance. She kept him waiting, and showed up in a completely stunning dress that would have knocked most men on their asses.

Rick had seen a lot of stunning dresses; he still felt a little tremor down his spine at the sight of her.

Petite, blonde, very attractive in a polished, coifed kind of way. She looked like the sort of woman who rolled out of bed with her hair styled and make-up flawless.

"Richard Castle?" she strode right up to him, which was how he knew who she was. She was at a distinct advantage: she most likely had the celebrity equivalent of his FBI file, while he only had her name.

"Gina!" he grinned, going for boyishly handsome.

"Well," she looked him up and down, openly sizing him up, "Your pictures do you justice."

"Thank you… I think…" he frowned, but kept smiling.

She laughed and placed a hand on his arm, "It's a compliment: most of the book jacket photos I see have been airbrushed or posed to the point where they don't even resemble the author themselves. You obviously didn't need it."

He couldn't help but preen a little as he turned to face the restaurant doors.

They were settled into an intimate corner of the restaurant before either of them mentioned more than the humidity – screwing with her hair – the restaurant – one of her favourites – or the niceness of the waitress – who looked a little like Kate, if he squinted a bit.

"I read your books, Mr Castle." Gina's eyes didn't leave the menu in front of her, her voice light and casual.

"Oh, really? Which ones?" He asked, as if he didn't care. He did, of course he did: he knew that his books weren't exactly high literature, but that didn't mean he didn't want people to like them. Martha, former queen of the mediocre review before she'd hit the almost-big time, had counselled that it would take three or four more bestsellers at least before he was egocentric enough to not care when someone turned around and insulted his writing.

"All of them." She looked him in the eye over her menu, dark eyes sharp, "You are a prospective client, after all."

"Prospective? I thought you already had the job."

"I haven't decided yet – they're pushing because of how suddenly Paul left, and you're a 'three books a year' type, so a new editor is kind of a priority. But it's not decided yet."

"Are you saying I need to be on my best behaviour?" he flashed his woman-melting smile, the one that worked on every debutant he'd ever met, and he saw her smile spread, flirtatiously.

"Exactly."

The waitress came back, and they ordered. Once she'd scurried away, with Gina's precise requirements for the cooking of her steak, they were back to staring at each other.

She really was extraordinarily attractive, in a petite, blonde, Germanic kind of way. She was smiling, all sultry and inviting, but her eyes were steely and businesslike. "So, where do you see your books going?"

"I'm sorry?" He hated questions about the future of his writing: that required planning and thought where Rick's whole writing process relied on quick, inspired bursts of creativity. True, for that last one he'd done a kind of murder-board thing, like he'd seen on TV, but that was a one-off maverick experiment for him.

"I mean are you looking at more standalone novels, or were you planning to serialise sometime soon?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted, "Paul and I discussed a new story set in the theatre, a Phantom of the Opera kind of thing, but set in the present, but I haven't gotten far in planning."

"Hm, interesting..." she leaned back in her chair, and pursed her lips, "It's just, and don't take this the wrong way, Rick, because I wouldn't be sat here if you didn't have some serious potential, I'm afraid of how much research that would entail."

"Research? I spend more hours in the Library than anyone, I know procedure inside out."

"But that's exactly my point," she said, "Your writing doesn't feel... lively, you know? It feels like something someone read in a book and added together and twisted a little to fit the plot. It doesn't feel like the front lines, like the real world with real consequences. And that was fine for the first few books, because your voice was fresh on the scene and the wit could keep it going..."

Wit? He had to smile at that, even as he felt his ego take a solid hit.

"…But now, well," she smiled and leaned back, fingers interlaced and legs crossed, as confident and smug as could be. Her dress rode up her legs just a little, exposing a sliver more of her shiny, tanned skin. He didn't think it was an accident. "Now you need to get into the big leagues."

"Do I?" he leaned forwards, smile still firmly in place. This wasn't a woman who would respond to worry or childish petulance. She wanted confidence: a man who was completely sure of himself, and he had a feeling that she'd walk all over him or, worse, lose interest entirely if that wasn't what she saw. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?"

"Start a series. Create a character with some meat, some depth, and follow them through a series of books, following their personal journey. You need to get the audience invested, now, since you already have their attention."

"And what would you suggest? I mean, aside from committing to a multiple book deal and then having to stick to it?" he kept his voice light, making it a joke, masking the panic that always came with deadlines.

"You need to meet with some cops. I mean a five-minute interview, maybe a ride-along if you can swing it. Get in however you can, and see how it really works."

"Because police precincts are just open houses for things like that."

"Just a suggestion, that's all. The other option would be to focus on character, and let plot fade into the background just a little bit. Have character with real emotional issues and zoom in on that – that might be easier to research."

"Because all humans have emotions, even shallow authors who spend too much time researching from books." He couldn't hide a slightly sharp, bitter tone in his voice.

"Listen," she leaned forward, softening, elbows on the table and cleavage on full display. Even as he tried not to gawp, Rick could see he was being played like a harp, "I understand: you're young, recently divorced, single father, life isn't uncomplicated. And that on its own can inform your writing, if you let it: break down that emotional wall between you and the reader. Even without all of that, you've got that playboy author thing going for you-"

"Playboy?" He nearly choked on his drink. For the few months between Kyra and Meredith he'd not exactly been a monk – and with Alexis to look after and Kate to… well, that was a harder verb to define, but she was definitely an important factor - but playboy?

"Well, playboy potential. Your daughter'll be in school soon, your mom's a legend in some circles…" she giggled, "Well, come on Rick, you're gorgeous and available – all you need is a minor criminal record and a few wild stories and you've got yourself a reputation."

"So I should be writing a series and knuckling down at the same time as getting wasted with celebutants and stealing cop cars?"

"I think you could pull it off. Mad, bad and dangerous to read?"

He laughed, and her smile widened, "Wow, that was awful!"

"Not my best, but then I'm not a writer."

"And the world makes sense once more."

"Oh! I felt that one!" she clutched her heart, mock-horror on her face. Then she relaxed into her smile again, "I'm serious, though. If you want my expertise, and believe me, you do, you need to commit to a series. Create a relatable character and draw in a dedicated audience – both on and off the page."

Their food came, and Rick took a forkful of his pasta, "Woah! You come here often, then?" he said around his food, suddenly slowing down and savouring it. He looked up, and saw her watching him, laughing silently.

"Yes. Any chance I get, for obvious reasons."

"I'll say, I don't think I ever want to leave!" he took another mouthful, and really relished it this time, "You live nearby, I'm guessing?"

She laughed again, and shook her head, "Used to. I'm a short cab ride away, now, closer to work, but just after college it was only a few blocks."

"This is a swanky neighbourhood for a recent graduate."

"I could say the same about the Upper East Side, but your success is pretty self-explanatory."

"Okay, but you're not a writer. Modelling?"

"Turning on the charm now, huh?"

"Well, it was worth a try, I guess."

"Don't do yourself down," she glanced up from under her eyelashes, and their eyes met "Your charm is fairly formidable."

"Oh, really?" they smiled at each other, the atmosphere suddenly intimate, and for the first time that night Rick thought he glanced something genuine in her eyes. Something speculative, sizing him up, more calculating but far more real than her wide, appealing smile.

And all of a sudden, he was intrigued. How could he not be, when she suddenly seemed so mysterious? He had a weakness for femme fatales, so sue him.

"Does it work on her?"

He was a little startled by the sudden change of subject, but he covered it with a sip of his wine. "Who?"

"The tall brunette, the one you were seen with a good six or seven times last month."

"How do you know she's not my nanny? Or a housekeeper who just hangs around me sometimes when cameras are around?"

"I didn't." she leaned back again, having finished her meal, "But now I do." She cocked her head to one side, "Is there something I need to know?"

"She's a friend. I don't see how my friends have anything to do with my possible editor."

"Wow, sudden defensiveness, okay: a girlfriend, then? If there's some reason why you're reluctant to amp up your public image, then I'd like to know."

"Yes, there is a reason. She's two years old and adorable, and relies on me for everything." Suddenly she was annoying the hell out of him, and all he wanted to do was wrap this up and hurry home to his daughter and… close friend.

"Yes, I understand that." She was moving back, her hands high in supplication, "I didn't mean to imply anything less. I just need to know what I'm working with."

And the annoyance left as quickly as it had come, "I know, I'm sorry. I want to work with you, I do." He leaned forward and stretched out a hand to cover hers, "But I'm at a weird point right now to be making decisions like this."

"Hey, no pressure. Well, not on the playboy-author thing. I do need to know that you'll seriously consider launching a recurring main character with a series sometime in the near future."

"I… I don't know. I'll think about it and get back to you, okay?"

"Sure." She grinned, and something changed in her demeanour, "Okay, business over."

"Really?"

"Sure. You have a babysitter?"

"Yeah, she's staying over."

"Great, then let's go try out that wilder lifestyle, see how it fits."

He arrived back at one am, not entirely sober and stumbling a little. "Rick?" he switched on the lights to see Kate, bleary-eyed in her pyjamas, staring at him from the top of the stairs.

"Hey."

"Good meeting?"

"You could say that." His speech was a little slurred, and he felt he needed to get into bed soon before he tripped and damaged something.

She came downstairs and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "Are you drunk?"

"There's a definite chance."

"Wow, there's a first time for everything I suppose." She sounded trapped between amusement and anger, the result coming out blank and detached.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"I can have fun. I party. I was a wild man pre-kid."

"I'm sure."

"And what's it to you, anyway?"

"Gee, I don't know. Alcoholic father in therapy and home on a Friday looking after your daughter, and you come home wasted and reeking of Chanel. I know I have no right, but it pisses me off a bit."

"No, you don't have a right." He had a growing headache, and an even stronger feeling that this was not a conversation to have while drunk. "We can talk in the morning, I have to sleep now."

"Yeah, great." She sounded utterly pissed, but she still helped him upstairs and into his room, and laid his pyjamas out for him on the bed.

"You're too nice, you know that?" he muttered, as she left.

"I'm repaying an eternal favour, never forget that. My natural urge is to let you pass out on your own and wake up hung-over and miserable, but I can't let that happen."

"Cause of your dad?"

"Well, kinda; but mostly because I owe you my life and his, and haven't worked out a proper repayment plan yet. I'm beholden to you, Rick, which means gritting my teeth and being nice even when you're being an idiot. Even when I kind of hate you for it."

"Sounds like marriage."

The room went silent, and Rick was thankful for his drunken state. He didn't have to worry about the awkward: the shame gland was the first to shut off when he drank.

He came out of the bathroom scrubbed up and sleepy five minutes later to find a sandwich and three big glasses of water by his bed.

Kate was nowhere to be seen.


	9. Chapter 9

The phone rang; Kate nearly jumped out of her skin.

A year ago, in college, before her mother's death, the phone would never stop ringing; now, she had one real, ever-present friend, and they talked face-to-face several times a day. Her friends from college had been supportive for a few weeks, but there was no one she was really close to, and Poughkeepsie was a long way from the city.

So the phone ringing startled her, and she stared at it accusingly for a moment before getting up to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hello? I'm calling for Katherine Beckett?"

"That's me, who's this?"

"Oh, hello! I'm calling from the admissions office for Vassar University. We just wanted to remind you that the deadline for reapplying is in three weeks and we haven't heard from you yet."

"Oh, yeah, sorry…" she'd been putting it off in her mind; convinced she had more time to decide.

"It's no problem, we understand the circumstances preceding your choice of a year out – you just need to makes sure the paperwork is with us within the next three weeks if you want to start back again in the fall."

"Oh, okay. Well, thanks, I'll let you know."

"Great! We look forward to hearing from you soon!" the chirpy voice hung up, and Kate put the phone down in a daze.

She hadn't thought about college, properly, in what felt like months. She'd been looking after Alexis, hanging out with Rick, going to visit her dad on the weekends and watching him slowly but surely recover. She'd even been catching up on reading – her favourites and his recommendations. And it was wonderful just relaxing and having a bit of fun, like she hadn't at all since Johanna died.

And if she went back to college, that would end. No more Rick to keep her smiling every day, no more Alexis to dote over and cuddle with on the sofa: the break would be over, and she'd have to pick up her old life again from where she'd left it.

It wasn't like she'd seriously thought she could do this forever. It would get dull after a while, monotonous, and she wanted to do more with her life.

She just didn't know if it was the same life she'd had at Vassar.

Just the thought of going back twisted her stomach and rattled her mind. The idea of having to find a place to live, of seeing her old friends and finding out how much their lives had moved on without her, of sitting in endless lecture halls and going out on the weekends, like a normal twenty-year-old… none of it fit right in her head.

She sat on her sofa and stared blankly out of the window. She tried, really tried, to summon up any desire to go back. To find that feeling she'd had when she arrived there two years ago with her whole world suddenly thrown open.

She knew she wasn't the same girl she was then. So much had happened, she'd changed so much, that it would be weird if she could suddenly dial it back and be the same.

But she had to go back. After all, where else could she go? She couldn't spend the rest of her life shuttling between Rick's couch, the gym, and her apartment.

Finally, she'd had enough of just sitting still. She pulled on her sneakers and went for a run around the block. The late morning sun was still hidden behind the buildings, but it was plenty warm even in the shade, and the exercise helped to clear her mind.

She found herself making lists in her mind. Reasons to go back and reasons not to. Things she wanted and things she didn't.

Rick topped a column on both. She was a little surprised, and alarmed, that he was such a factor in this decision. But he'd become her lifeline, the one solid thing to tie her life around. She was grateful for that – she hated to think what might have come of her or her dad if he'd not been there to stabilise her – but she wasn't mad with grief anymore. She wasn't going out half-crazed, almost suicidal, seeking vengeance in the middle of the night anymore. She wasn't hiding in her apartment, miserable and alone and terrified of the world.

She shouldn't need him anymore. He shouldn't factor into the rest of her life.

She stopped, and breathed deeply. Even running wasn't helping her, she still felt all tangled up inside. Lost with no escape route in sight.

Every possible avenue felt like she'd be sacrificing something huge, something important.

She walked, seeing a hot dog stand up ahead and her stomach reminding her of how long ago breakfast was.

She was in the process of buying a half with everything on it when she heard a familiar voice next to her, ordering the same thing.

"Hey," she said, hoping he'd recognise her, so she wouldn't have to guess how she knew him and get it wrong.

"Hi." He squinted at her, trying to place her, "I know you."

"Yeah, I think so. What's your name?"

"Ryan- Kevin! Sorry, I've just started work and everyone's a surname there. I'm getting used to just being 'Ryan'."

"Where do you work?"

"The twelfth precinct, just across the street." He pointed to the large brownstone building, and she nodded.

"Oh! I know you! You found my dad about six months ago and brought him home." She laughed, suddenly hit with the ridiculousness of the situation, "You can't possibly remember me."

"I think I do, though. I have a mind for faces. How is your dad?"

"He's doing better – he's in treatment now, so things are looking up."

"That's great," he smiled at her, then started to grin, "I do remember you!"

"How?"

"You hugged me! It was my first day on the job and you hugged me!"

She giggled, "I did, didn't I?"

"See, that's something you don't forget fast. I'm sorry, what was your name?"

She couldn't stop laughing, "Kate. Kate Beckett." She thrust her hand out, the one without the hotdog, and he shook it.

"Much more professional."

"Yes m'am." He nodded, solemnly.

He took his hotdog and took a big bite out of it. Kate's stomach growled, and she remembered her own lunch and followed his lead. They sat down on a bench next to the stand and ate in companionable silence.

She was three-quarters finished before she spoke again, "So what's it like being a cop?"

He swallowed his mouthful before answering, "It's good; at least so far: I haven't been shot at yet, so that's an upside. Yeah, I like it. I can't imagine doing anything else."

"It must be nice: knowing you're, you know, doing something."

"Yeah, it is. I mean, sometimes the guy gets away or something and you want to smash walls, but you don't usually go to bed feeling useless, if that makes any sense."

"Yeah, it does."

"I'm sorry, I didn't ask," he looked suddenly very concerned, and she wanted to laugh again, "What do you do for a living?"

Of course, she didn't know how to answer. Yesterday she would have said 'student', right away. Now, with that whole path seeming so much less appealing, she didn't quite know what to say. "I'm kind of… between things, right now."

"College? Or career?"

"The choice between the two, to be honest. Right now I'm more like a professional babysitter."

"Interesting. And have you been shot at yet?"

She laughed, "No, not yet. The kid is the nicest girl you ever met, I can't imagine her throwing crayons let alone anything else."

"Wow, lucky parents."

"Parent." She corrected, though she didn't know why, "I've never met the mom. I think she's in LA."

"Ah," he nodded, "so you're the live-in girlfriend?"

"No!"

"No?"

"No, he's just…" so many things, "A friend." She finished, lamely.

"Uh huh." He smiled, "Well, I gotta get back to work. It was great seeing you, though. We should do this again sometime."

"Yeah, we should." She stood, and threw her napkin in the trashcan next to her. He did the same, then rifled through his pockets, looking for something. Finally, triumphantly, he pulled out a business card.

"Here," he thrust it into her hands, "Any time you want to hang out, just give me a call. I'm more fun off-duty, promise."

She walked home lost in thought. Kate Beckett wasn't a girl who believed in signs, ever. She didn't read horoscopes or look at the zodiac; her feet were on the ground. But how weird was it that she would bump into him, the only cop she'd ever met, right at the moment when she had no idea of what to do?

The way he'd described it… it sounded like everything she'd gotten from her brief vigilante stint. Like the very thing she needed, the perfect way.

She'd still be in the city. She'd be working, earning some money to pay for food; she could even use the rest of her college tuition money to support herself, if the wages weren't enough.

She could still see Rick and Alexis, and start to properly repay him.

Maybe she'd even be able to get to the files on her mom's killer, and one-day track him down.

The idea was only half-formed; she knew that. She knew nothing about the police training, or where she'd apply.

But she was bright enough to get an offer from Stanford when she'd applied to colleges in High School, and could pass any physical fitness test anyone could throw at her. With a bit of study – something she was certain Kevin would be happy to help her with – she could probably get in.

And if not, she could see about going back to Vassar next year.

By the time she was home, she was entirely hooked on the idea.

Five days later:

Something felt different when Rick got home. He'd had another meeting with Gina in the afternoon, so he'd asked Kate to pick Alexis up from preschool and look after her. There was something different in the atmosphere of the apartment, something bright and sparkling that hadn't been there before.

"Hello?"

As he closed the door and got further inside, he could hear singing coming from the kitchen. He went to investigate, and found Kate singing and dancing around the kitchen, cooking dinner and feeding Alexis – giggling in her high chair – little tastes of the pasta and sauce from a wooden spoon.

"Hey!" she turned around, eyes wide and shining. "Want some dinner?"

"Sounds great."

"How about some wine?" she gestured to the bottle by the hob.

"You're underage." He said the first thing he thought of, then shook his head, "Plus: you don't drink."

"It was for the sauce, I'm having what she's having." She raised her glass of grape juice, a grown-up version of Alexis' sippy-cup.

"Oh," he relaxed a little, "Okay." he fetched a glass, and let her pour it for him. "What's the occaision?"

"What?"

"Come on, Alexis loves it when you come over: you always order in and she's hooked on Domino's Pizza."

"Well, I can cook. Surprise!" she gestured to the evidence, "Well, I can make pasta and sauce from a jar. But still. It felt like a nice treat – something like a home-cooked meal."

"It's great." He grinned and took a seat at the table, opposite his daughter. "Did something happen?"

"Let's eat." She served up, her eyes on her work and very much not on him. They were settled and eating before he had a chance to say anything more.

"Kate?"

"Yeah?" she twirled the spaghetti on her fork expertly, and Rick was a bit impressed.

"What happened?"

"What?"

"You're singing and cooking, and don't get me wrong, I love it. But it's not normal, so my amazing deductive skills make me think something happened."

She sighed, "I was hoping you'd have drunk more before I told you."

Okay, now he was concerned, "What? Told me what?"

"My, um," she took a big gulp of juice, stalling, "College called; I mean, Vassar called: it's time to re-enrol."

"Really?" he smiled past the little coil of dread in his heart, "That's great, Kate! It's time you were getting your life back."

"Yeah, I know." She swallowed, and looked him right in the face, "But here's the thing: I'm not doing it."

"What?" he nearly choked on his pasta.

"I'm not going back to college. I'm formerly dropping out."

"Why?" he leaned forward, put a hand on hers over the table, "Kate, I know the last year's been hard on you, but you can't spend the rest of your life in mourning. You have to go out and be awesome."

"I know." She smiled, a strange little smile, "But not there."

"Then where? NYU? I bet you could get into Columbia if you really tried." He had to admit, the idea of having her nearby still made him stupidly happy.

"No, the NYPD."

"I'm sorry?"

"The police department. I'm going for the Academy entrance exams in the fall." She started talking faster and faster, the words coming out in a rush, "I met a cop, Kevin, he's going to help me and I know what you're going to say but, really, it's what I want to do, and I can start paying you back sooner than I thought and I've made up my mind, Rick! You can't change it!"

"You have to go to college." he wasn't hungry anymore, and took his plate to the counter, "You have to get a degree and become a lawyer, like your mom."

"No, I don't." she finished the last of hers, and put her plate with his. They faced each other in the kitchen, eye to eye, "I'm doing this. I can make detective in seven or eight years, if I do well."

"You could get hurt, Kate." He couldn't believe she was really saying this, he'd thought they were past her angry, vengeful phase, "You could get shot, Kate, don't you get that?"

"Rick, my mom was the most innocent person you ever met, and she was stabbed randomly in an alley on the way to dinner." She shook her head, tears in her eyes; "At least if I take a bullet on the job, there's some meaning to it."

"Is that what this is about? Some weird death wish?"

"No!" She cried, "This is about the rest of my life! I need to do something, Rick, I can't wait eight years to be a lawyer, more to get anything useful done. I can't go spend three more years sitting in lectures – I don't have that kind of patience anymore."

"Then get a job somewhere else, an office or a bank or something."

"I need to feel like I'm helping her. And I'm too… I can't go back to college. I can't be that person anymore." She looked up at him, eyes pleading, "I need to do this, Rick."

"No, you don't."

"How do you know?" she was almost yelling now, voice only tempered by Alexis watching them from her chair.

"I know because I've been here, with you, for a long time now. And your life's harder than what's fair; I know that. Your family fell apart and you went with it. But you can't make this decision based on grief. You'll never let go, if you do."

"I'll never let go either way." She said, quietly, "This way I can help someone else through it. I can be the cop who doesn't ignore evidence for an easier life. I can make a difference."

"You can make a difference working for a charity, or doing one of those 'teach English abroad' things in Africa or something. You don't have to put yourself in the line of fire."

"Rick, believe it or not, this isn't one of your books. I'm not a character you can control: this is my life, not your storyline."

"No, but you're like a mother to Alexis and if you weren't in her life, if you got injured or killed, you know what that would do to her."

"Don't use that trick on me, Rick, don't you dare." She looked scarily, murderously angry, and he suddenly wished he could take that back.

"Fine, then what about me?"

"What about you? What gives you the right to tell me how to live my life? I want to be a cop, Rick, I think I'd be good at it! I think it'd make it so I could wake up in the morning without feeling useless or wasteful, living for nothing when she's not even able to do that." She threw her hands up in the air and sighed, "You're not my husband, and you're not my father, so you get no say in this."

"You're my best friend, Kate."

"Really, is that what we are?"

"Yes, we are. Whatever other crap there might be around us, we're best friends. We're stuck with each other, and I'm not willing to watch you kill yourself for someone who isn't even here to see it." He sighed, and stepped toward her, "She'd want you to live, Kate. She'd want you to be happy."

"But I'm not. Not like this: I want to be. But I'm not. I need more than a best friend and a life of passing the time." She looked up at him; her eyes strangely clear, as if the storm had passed, "We were about to be something more, once. Remember? Then we pulled away from it, and pretended it didn't happen. Why did we do that?"

"Because if we'd been anything more, then we couldn't be friends. Even without us… together, like that, you're going to push me away the second you don't need me there holding you up anymore!"

"So you just decided what we'd mean to each other." She looked a little stunned, "Well, no wonder, if we'd been together then you and Miss Publisher would be a little awkward, wouldn't it?"

"Don't bring Gina into this. If I don't get to stop you running into the line of fire than you can't tell me who to talk to."

"Is that all you do, just talk? And drink, obviously." Her sarcastic, cutting tone made him feel like a jackass. He'd really hurt her. "We wouldn't work, anyway. I finished with the whole drinking late and coming home at midnight thing, long ago. I need a life that matters; you seem to be spared that."

And with that, she stormed out. He heard the door slam behind her, and it held a horrible note of finality.


	10. Chapter 10

Rick picked up the phone, and started to dial Kate's number.

Then he put it down again, and cursed under his breath.

He wasn't sure when things between them had become so... complicated. Their friendship was deep enough that when she wasn't around – which was all the time, these days – there seemed like an empty place where she used to be.

All those daytime soaps he'd been subjected to as a boy, with the endless string of bored, middle-aged nannies he'd been saddled with eating chocolates on the couch, came back to him. The way the couple would fight, they'd scream and argue and hurt each other, and then they'd come crashing back to each other. The man would rush to the airport, show up at her office with a bouquet of flowers, and apologise.

But there wasn't anything to apologise for. Backing down would be consenting to her throwing her life in front of a bullet.

He'd been thinking about that, every day since she walked out: about how she didn't seem to see it as dangerous, or vaguely suicidal; about that sense of purpose shining in her eyes that night, more determined than he'd ever seen her.

He had always thought of the police, the army, physically dangerous careers like that as noble and kind of awesome in the abstract. Hell, he made his livelihood from idolising fearless and canny detectives, the more perilous the mission the better. He'd just never imagined he'd be in this position. He'd always thought of himself as the detective, while writing, and never of how it felt to be the one waiting at home.

His new book was due in two weeks, and he was uncharacteristically intent on meeting the deadline. Gina'd wanted emotional resonance, a deep character for the audience to really connect to.

His new detective, Kendra Blue, was young. She was hurting from mysterious past wounds; she was cagey and sometimes a little blunt, but smarter than everyone else on the force.

She got herself into situations she sometimes couldn't solve, and she relied on others to get her out.

Her father waited at home for her: their relationship, his waiting for her to call him every night, to check in, was a major part of the story.

He didn't know when the fun was taken out of his writing, but he wasn't rollicking along, laughing at his own jokes, inventing gadgets and throwing in random one-liners like Bond anymore. That bouncy energy had been replaced by something darker and more intense.

 _Blue Moon_ , the first book in what he hoped would be an extended series, was sent to Gina with days to spare. His mother was startled when he called her on Monday morning, with the news that Gina had received a completed manuscript and was starting to read it.

Days later, Rick and Gina went to dinner to discuss it. They went to the same restaurant as before, but sat in the window, surrounded by people. This wasn't her trying to flirt him into submission, smile as she re-ordered his writing. This was business.

They both seemed more comfortable with that.

"It's a lot darker than your previous books." Gina said, after they'd settled in and ordered.

"I know."

"I still think you'd benefit from some hands-on experience – the action scenes and procedure still feel a little stiff..." she tossed her hair and smiled, a really genuinely pleased smile that forced him to respond, "But the emotion's there. The people feel more real this time, which is impressive." She narrowed her eyes, scrutinising, "Who is Kendra based on?"

"She's a fictional character, Gina. You said you wanted a fallible hero, there you have her."

"No, I'm not buying that."

"Imagine my surprise."

She smirked, and conceded the point, "I'm just saying that she feels more real than the characters you've written before. I was wondering if anything had happened to help that? Anything that the press might like to hear?"

He could feel the anger swelling inside him, and couldn't understand why. She was being nice, tactful, and even sweet. Something he'd never, in all the times he'd been bullied by her over the phone in the last months, thought she'd be capable of. Of course he understood her intention: a public infatuation with a beautiful woman, and the romance influencing his writing? Sales with middle-aged women and swooning teenage girls would skyrocket.

"No." he snapped, then sighed, apologetically "I mean, no. I made her up."

"Rick." She reached out a slender, pale hand and placed it over his, soothingly, "I'm not your enemy. You can tell me if something happened."

"Gina…"

"It was that brunette, wasn't it?"

He froze, deer-in-headlights look all over his face, "What brunette?"

"Ah ha!" she crowed, leaning back in her chair, "I _knew_ it!" she took the olive from her martini and pulled it from the cocktail stick, crunching it triumphantly between her perfectly white teeth. "What's her name?"

He ran a hand through his hair, and looked at her. She was smiling expectantly, curious and bright and beautiful. And he was suddenly aware of how wonderful it would feel to tell someone about even just a fraction of the emotional meat-grinder he was going through. "Kate Beckett." He murmured.

"Wow." Her eyebrows rose to her hairline.

"What?"

"She's really done a number on you, hasn't she?"

"You could say that." He took a large gulp of his drink.

"What was it, a bad breakup?"

He had to laugh, although it came out a little bitter, "No, not that. She's… she _was_ a friend. I don't know… I thought that, maybe, there was something else there." He didn't know how to phrase it properly: he barely had it straight in his head. "She had a lot of stuff going on, a lot of damage, and it got the better of her."

"What happened?"

"She joined up with the NYPD, and quit her education. She wasn't interested in my opinion, either."

"You thought it was a mistake?"

"You could say that."

"And she's Kendra Blue?"

"Yes. I suppose you could say that." It felt like a weight had shifted just a little bit off his chest. He smiled, "Anyway, off that bright and cheerful topic, what's next?"

* * *

Kate slammed her fist into her opponent's stomach, only to have her hand grabbed and her body propelled backward, her own momentum forcing her backwards. She recovered fast and swept her foot out, going for the knees.

His whole body crashed into the mat, and she stood over him, fists raised. "Yield?"

"Yield!"

"Cool." She reached down and helped him up. They shook hands, and she grinned.

"You're getting better." He noted.

"Hell yeah, I just kicked your ass pretty damn hard if I'm not mistaken."

"I let you win, you need the boost."

"Sure, of course you did." She nodded in mock agreement.

"Miss Beckett, are you laughing at your instructor and direct superior?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." Royce cracked a wide grin, and patted her encouragingly on the back. Kate ignored the huge burst of pride and happiness that rushed through her at the endearment, and hid her ecstatic smile behind a long drink of water from her sports bottle.

"Well, Beckett, I think we're done for the day." That was one of the things Kate really liked about Royce: he'd only ever called her by her first name once, and that was when they first met. It made her feel more professional, more like a grown-up. It was like soft, fragile, frightened little Kate could vanish behind a harder, stronger exterior. She could just be Beckett, a stern, hard cop who fought the bad guys instead of hiding from them.

It was like a legitimized version of how she'd felt in the alleyways. Like she was doing something; moving on after ten months of standing still, just staring into the abyss.

"I believe we are, sir."

"Oh, so it's 'sir' now, is it?" he teased, "Five minutes ago it was 'pansy-ass'."

"Well, we're off the mat now: I'm no longer allowed to wail on you."

He laughed, and she had to join in. His smile was one of experience, every line on his face earned and worked for over a long and hard career. His laugh was a reward, a sign that they understood each other, and it was a compliment in and of itself. "If I wanted to win, I'd win."

"Sure, sure."

They'd reached the doors to the changing rooms, and they just stood, grinning at each other, "So, what're you going to do with your night off?"

"I was going to go home, take a bath, catch up on some reading." She was re-reading Rick's whole collection, and had got up to _Death of a Prom Queen_. She hadn't seen him or heard his voice in months, and reading his words made her feel somehow connected to him.

She missed him more than she should. So much more than was good for her heart or her focus on her training.

She looked up at Royce, smile still plastered all over her face, and felt that rush of joy she had whenever he smiled at her like that.

It was comfortable, loving him, because he was so much older; because he was her trainer, her mentor, and her teacher at the Academy; because he looked at her like a younger sister, like a little girl in the schoolyard. He'd never make a move on her, and he'd never even think of it.

"Sounds like a plan."

"How about you, sir?"

"I was hoping to take a beautiful girl out for a drink." He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, and she felt her heart beat faster.

But no matter how much he flirted with her, it was always entirely innocent. She could wallow in her schoolgirl crush, and her feelings were entirely safe.

"Who?"

"And you want to be a detective."

"I'm just saying, I have a night planned."

"A beer with your trainer to discuss your latest performance on patrol will still leave you hours and hours of reading and bathing time."

"Okay, fine. One beer and then I'm going home."

"Great."

She was walking on air as she showered and changed, not even minding the havoc the Academy gym's hairdryers played with her hair. She combed it out, taking extra time to make it presentable, and even re-applied her mascara and lipstick before throwing her gym clothes into her bag and leaving.

He was already waiting for her when she got to the lobby, and they walked together out onto the street.

Things were going fine, as they discussed her fellow police cadets, the rigors of her new training regimen, and regaled her with stories from his own Academy days. She was having fun, bouncing along beside him in her new high heels, laughing at his jokes and beaming up at him.

Then she looked across the street. A tall, dark-haired and broad shouldered man was walking toward them, holding hands with a short, busty blonde.

He froze the same moment she did, and Royce took another step before he realised Kate had stopped.

"Hey, Beckett, what is it?"

"Um…" Rick met her eyes, for just a moment. Then he looked down at the blonde beside him, and they turned to go into the café beside them. "Nothing. Sorry, it's nothing."

"Okay…" he frowned, scrutinising her for just a moment, before shaking his head and starting off again. She didn't follow, still frozen, choking back the sudden tears that she couldn't explain. "You coming?"

"Yeah!" she was startled out of her revere, and followed after him.

She wasn't the same for the rest of the night. She'd seen Rick – she knew it'd been him: her eyesight was 20/20 and she'd recognise him anywhere, even if it were pitch dark. And he was with someone, a pretty woman. After three months, she'd guessed he'd move on.

It wasn't even like they'd been together. They'd kissed twice, held hands a few more. Then they'd pulled back, and been just friends. And she still didn't know why.

Royce didn't mention the episode, and she didn't bring it up. That was another thing she loved about him: no personal questions.


	11. Chapter 11

Rick just couldn't sit still: he kept pacing back and forth, starting to read a book or eat something and then throwing it down again, unable to focus.

He was even disturbing Alexis with his restlessness, and he picked her up to calm her, holding her close and walking them back and forth. She started to settle, curling into his shoulder and watching her father slowly – and without jerky movements, as he'd learnt early on in parenthood – but surely lose his mind.

She'd seen him.

He knew it, he just knew it: she'd seen him and hadn't said anything, not even waved. Like they didn't even know each other. She'd been with another guy, some tall, muscular, older guy who looked like trouble.

But he was probably just someone from the Academy.

From her new life, the one she clearly didn't want Rick anywhere near.

But hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to convince himself of that. He knew that she'd made her choice; that she didn't want him anymore; that he needed to just leave it at that and move on himself.

But he just couldn't walk away.

He'd made his choice: they were having this out, one way or another.

He pulled Alexis' coat on, and watched with a certain amount of fatherly pride as she sorted out her own little Velcro shoes while he did up his laces. She stood in front of him, and frowned "It's nighttime."

"Yes, it is. But this is important."

"It's nearly bedtime." She pointed out, firmly, and he had to laugh. She just frowned harder at the idea he was mocking her.

"It is, I know that, and we're being very naughty going out right before bedtime. But this is important."

"What're we doing?"

"We're going to see Auntie Kate."

He was a little heartbroken when Alexis' face lit up, and anger came with it. He wasn't the only one Kate had hurt by leaving so suddenly.

And he wasn't the only one he'd affected by not acting sooner. Kate wasn't the only one to blame for this mess.

"Okay, Daddy." She raised her arms to be lifted, and he hauled her into his arms. He fiddled with the keys, and opened the door, ready to be all romantic and courageous and dash out into the night. This wasn't a mission to save a friendship; this was a quest to prove his love.

But he was stopped in his tracks before he even left the apartment. By the woman herself, hand even raised to knock, shock written all over her face.

"Hi." She squeaked in surprise.

"Hi."

Wow, this was awkward.

"Auntie Kate!" Alexis broke the tension by squealing in delight and holding her hands out, wriggling in Rick's arms and reaching out to Kate.

"Hey, honey!" Kate held her own arms out, and Rick handed Alexis over to her, figuring that this would at least stop her from running off anytime soon. "How've you been?"

"Daddy's reading _Howl's Moving Castle_ to me!" she announced, excitedly, "And Grandma's in another play and we went to see her and we went backstage, which everyone says is real special…" she rabbited on, encouraged by Kate's smile and 'mhms' and nodding. Rick silently headed back inside, and Kate followed, laughing along with Alexis all the way. "And," she continued, "I got five new outfits for Suzie!"

"Honey?" she finally interrupted, and Alexis paused, looking up at her with wide, adoring eyes, "Do you want to show me?"

Alexis' smile grew even wider, and Rick thought his heart might explode as he watched them from the hallway.

"Well why don't you go dress her up, and I'll be there in a minute." She shot a meaningful glance at Rick, and his stomach twisted. He was dreading this conversation, even as he knew that two minutes ago he'd been ready to rush headlong into it.

"Okay!" Kate set Alexis back on her feet, and she toddled off to her room.

"She's even taller, what're you feeding her? She'll be a woman before you know it."

"She's learning new words everyday, too. I'm dreading the day she starts school properly and learns to curse." Kate laughed, and Rick had to smile, even as the awkward descended once more. "What're you doing here, Kate?"

"I… I honestly don't know. I had to see you."

"You saw me today – that was you, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," she shook her head, her hair falling over her face, "I was with Royce, he's my trainer."

"Oh, cool." He faked nonchalance, "I was with Gina. She's my agent."

"I know – I was here the night you first met her."

"Oh yeah, of course, sorry."

"You guys an item, then? That's what all the magazines seem to think anyway. When did you become such a celebrity?"

"That was her idea, drum up new readership."

"Pandering to the _Us Weekly_ crowd, nice." She muttered, sarcastically.

"So you just came here to criticize me?"

"No!"

"Really? You didn't say anything today, nothing at all. I thought we were friends, Kate!"

"I know, I'm sorry! But we haven't spoken in months and you were with her, and I figured…"

"What?"

"I figured you'd moved on. Found someone easier, with no baggage. Someone you could hang out with without spending half your time in the hospital or funding rehab…. Which you're still doing, I noticed." She laughed, uneasily, "I'm stood here yelling at you and you're still paying for my dad's treatment. Way to go, Kate."

"Kate, you could push me in front of a bus, and I'd still pay for the treatment. I lo… I'm your friend, that's what I'm here for." He finished, lamely.

He'd chickened out, and felt the mental kicking begin in the back of his mind.

"I like the Academy, Rick. It's a different kind of learning, a new environment, and I'm going to make a good cop. You don't get to tell me to give that up."

"I know. And I won't, however nervous it makes me."

"I don't want to hurt you. Even if you don't ever want to see me again after tonight, I don't want you to worry about me. But I can't go back to the life I had before: there's nothing for me there. Nothing at all."

"I can get that, I guess."

"And you know, to get anywhere near Detective, Royce says I'll need to complete me degree. So you don't have to worry about my poor example to Alexis."

"You're the best example Alexis could have, Kate. Don't you get that? You're smart, and brave, and you're stronger than anyone I've ever met… you could date a hundred of your trainers and have ten times as many freak-outs than you do already, and still be a better role-model for her than most of the women I know."

"I'm not dating Royce." She was smiling, and he didn't know why, but it was a weirdly sad smile that put him on edge a little,

"What?"

"You said I could date my trainers, but I don't. We're not allowed, and even if we were… He's a great guy, but he doesn't see me that way and… and I'm in love with you." She took a deep breath, steeling herself, "I'm in love with you, and I have been for a long time, and I thought you needed to know that. Even if you don't feel the same way, which you probably don't, but yeah. That's why I'm here, to make sure you know that before you decide to jump into something serious with your editor."

"I broke it off with Gina the day after you left."

"What?" she was brought up short, and looked incredulously up at him.

"I figured that if I ever got up the nerve to call and apologise for being an overbearing jackass, or you ever came back, I didn't want anything to be in the way."

"But… you were holding hands. You were so… couple-y!"

"She wants to launch a new media image, and she thought us visibly dating would help that. She has more contacts than I do in the business, and there's something about making an ex jealous… anyway, it's all for show, and we're officially breaking up after the book comes out."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Cause, you know, I love you."

"Yeah." She was laughing, and in half a second they'd bridged the gap between them and were grasping at each other, kissing like their lives depended on it. Her arms were around his neck, holding his mouth as hard against hers as possible as his wrapped around her waist, pulling her so close into him that it felt like he wanted them to become one entity.

Which, in that moment, neither of them had a problem with.

It was a long time before they finally surfaced for air, grinning down at each other, not able to stop touching for one moment.

"We're really doing this?" She asked, "You're not going to tell me something about timing or meaning or something? We're really in this?"

"Do you know how hard it was pushing you away the first time? I couldn't do that again, Kate. I'm all yours for as long as you want me, whenever you want me."

"Good. Cause that's pretty much always."


End file.
